Have you got color in your cheeks?
by Pillow Bosom
Summary: It was twenty-five years to the day that he'd first received his Hogwarts letter... Twenty-five years, and he was lucky to have lived through the first one... So yes. Things might not have gone exactly as he had planned, but he couldn't complain. The only thing he really wished for, was someone to share the rest of the years with. My first attempt at an HP (DRARRY) fic.
1. Chapter 1

_Hello all!_

 _This is my very first go at writing an HP fic. It wasn't something I ever thought I'd do, but the Drarry thing has been growing on me, and I thought I'd give it a go. This will be pretty fluffy, maybe somewhat lemony (hence the M rating, just to be on the safe side). Rather than dealing with the imminent threat of dark wizards, it will be about human relationships and self discovery._

I'm just throwing myself in to this without a fully fleshed out story, so here's hoping it all comes together. Will probably be a pretty slow burn.

 _Pretend that the epilogue (and the Cursed Child) never happened (except for Ron and Hermione)._

 _I own nothing but my own imagination..._

* * *

"Alright Harry?"

Harry jerked his head up at the tinny, distorted voice that suddenly reverberated around his office, and looked over to blink at the disembodied head that sat oddly in the middle of the fireplace, opposite where he sat.

It was one of those things that he thought he ought to be used to by now, seeing his best friend's freckled face, floating in a wreath of green flame… but it still made him feel a bit odd. Body parts shouldn't be separated like that, seemed too much like voluntary splinching.

"Ninny's going to blow a valve if you don't hurry up, mate…"

" _Hermione's_ going to blow a valve if she catches you calling her _Ninny_ again." Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll be right behind you."

Ron just grinned, and his head disappeared with a _whoosh_ just as the phone on Harry desk crackled into life.

"Mr Potter, sir, it's time for your four-thirty."

Harry was already standing, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything on him. Phone, wallet, wand… he reached over to push the intercom button. "Thanks Celia. I'll be taking the express, so there's no need for you to hang around. Head off, and I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thank you Mr Potter. Happy birthday."

"Cheers."

He sighed. Poor Celia wasn't having the easiest time in the office. She was trying, she really, _really_ was, but she wasn't muggle born. She was as ignorant about the Muggle way of life as most kids raised in magical families were, and it had created a few problems with her internship.

At least now she hid her wand down in the bottom of her filing cabinet instead of keeping it close at hand. The last thing they needed was a repeat of the floating coffee cup incident…

Harry, on the other hand, had adapted well to working in a Muggle environment. It suited him. He could have done without – perhaps – being used as a political pawn by the Ministry of Magic, but as far as actual work went, he had an adequately satisfying job, for an auror.

There wasn't much call for aurors anymore. Eighteen years had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, Voldemort's followers all but eradicated. The department was still fully staffed of course, and probably always would be, but work out in the field was rare.

So Harry's current position, as the Minister of Magic's Mediator to the Muggle Minister (try saying that five times fast) was busy enough to keep him occupied, and kept him in close contact with the Department of Muggle Relations (formally Misuse of Muggle Artefacts) where Ron was usually working, as the auror liaison to Arthur.

Best of all though, the job kept him out of the wider wizarding world, for the most part.

Not that he didn't _like_ the wizarding world… he just didn't like his place in it. He'd never been comfortable with the level of fame he'd had wand-side, and after The Battle, any delusions he'd had about being able to lead a quiet life were dashed.

He was an icon, a _symbol_ , and while he appreciated how important it was to have icons and symbols to latch on to in difficult times, he really wished it just wasn't him.

There were hundreds of other brave witches and wizards and centaurs and _house elves_ for chrissake that had fought and _sacrificed_ – some with their lives, with their _children_ – for emancipation from the pureblood regime, but as always, he was the one that was lauded above all others… and he hated it.

The level of intrusion had cost him a lot. Shoved into the limelight at such a young age, he'd still struggled during his late teens and early twenties, stretching himself too thin between his responsibilities. His _duty_ to the wizarding community, his auror training, and then his auror work, his friendships, and his relationship… he couldn't do it all, and one of them eventually gave.

He and Ginny were still friends, but in the end, the unwanted _attention_ (including the inevitable sexually charged invitations he'd had to constantly field) and Harry's difficulty with managing a work/life balance, had been too much for her, and she'd dumped him.

She'd be there tonight, no doubt. She and Victor would apparate in from wherever they were currently playing, stay for the cake (but no alcohol, not coming up to the world cup) then apparate away again.

The world's most powerful Quidditch couple. The legendary Victor Krum, considered old for the game, but still going strong… and the best Chaser the Harpies had seen in a century, retiring only two years before, in order to have their first baby, then returning to coach.

Harry didn't think Ron would ever come to terms with the situation… but Harry was fine with it. If he was going to be brutally honest (and so far he hadn't been, not out loud, anyway) he was rather relieved when Ginny had broken up with him.

He'd loved her with all of his heart, but they wanted different things from life. They came from such vastly different backgrounds. Something had always sat uneasy between them. Something that was easy to ignore when they were horny kids, and still easy to ignore when they were dealing with the aftermath of Voldemort's reign of terror… but that in peace time created a restless tension between them that put Harry on edge.

No. Things were better now. Life was good. He still had his friends, his surrogate family. He had his job, and he had relative anonymity in the Muggle world.

It was twenty-five years to the day that he'd first received his Hogwarts letter, inviting him to attend arguably the best school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Twenty-five years, and he was lucky to have lived through the first one. He was _lucky_ to be alive, and a day didn't go by that he forgot that.

So yes. Things might not have gone exactly as he had planned, but he couldn't complain. The only thing he really wished for, was someone to share the rest of the years with.

Ugh. He always got maudlin on his birthday.

Shaking himself, he double checked that his computer was logged out, tugged his jacket from the back of his chair and stepped up to the fireplace.

Grabbing a handful of floo powder from the vase on the mantelpiece, he stepped one foot into the small space (navigating small fireplaces was a tricky business) and threw the powder into the grate.

"The Glen." He said, _clearly_ , and when the green flames roared up, he stepped into them, whirling through space until he staggered out from Ron and Hermione's – much larger – hearth, facing a room full of smiling people.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

People were crammed up to the walls in the Weasley/Granger sitting room. Most of his friends – from Luna Lovegood to Hagrid the gamekeeper – were there, cheering for him. Not because he'd done something _heroic_ , but because he was just him. Just for his birthday…

Nope, he couldn't complain at all. He might not have everything, but he had enough.


	2. Chapter 2

"The usual, Sir?"

"Hmm?" The Prime Minister looked up, clearly not paying attention to Harry at all. "Oh, yes." He waved a hand distractedly and went back to reading whatever email was in front of him.

Harry cast Muffliato on the room, just to make sure that no one could accidently listen in. Everyone was used to Harry's weekly briefing with the PM by now. Not that briefings were strange… but weekly meetings, alone, with a junior-ish staff member? That wasn't exactly normal.

"Anything to report, Potter?" The man, as portly and dour as the people of England could possibly hope their Prime Minister to be, leaned back in his chair, a vague look of distrust on his sagging face.

This was routine with them by now. When Harry had first taken the role, in the interest of Muggle relations, the Minister had been terrified of him… but when Harry had proven himself to not be the eccentric kind of character that Sebastian Heart (the Minister of Magic prior to Hermione) had been, the Muggle Minister had warmed to him somewhat.

So Harry paid no attention to the constant air of wariness that the man affected around him. He knew, after all, that the suspicion was towards magic, towards the secrecy of the wizarding world, rather than towards him as a person.

Actually, the few times they'd socialised, the Minister seemed to have forgotten all about the _wizard_ thing, and they'd gotten along rather well.

"Not much, Sir." Harry sat on the other side of the desk, spreading a few papers out in front of himself. "A spelled bracelet was found in an antique store in Surrey. It seems that it was accidently sold in an estate sale, rather than a malicious placement." He paused for a second, but the Minister nodded for him to keep going. "And, uh…" He shuffled to the next paper. "Two muggles were on the receiving end of a hex last night. But it seems that it was somewhat of a pub brawl, rather than an anti-muggle demonstration."

"A _hex_ , in a pub brawl?" The minister raised a bushy eyebrow. "What did the hex _do_?"

Harry cleared his throat. "Well. It's a rather childish spell, really. But effective. It's called the _Bat Bogey_ hex…" He trailed off, hoping the Minister wouldn't push him to explain…

No, he just smirked, and got Harry to run through the rest of the weeks _incidents._ A handful of petty misdemeanours and mistakes. Things that didn't really warrant the Muggle Minister's attention, but had asked to be kept him abreast of all Magical happenings that affected Muggles. Hence the creation of Harry's job, and these weekly rundowns.

Incidents reported, and subsequent paperwork signed, Harry was about to leave when the Minister cleared his throat.

"I received a letter from Hogwarts this morning." He said, digging around in a drawer to hold up a thick sheet of folded parchment, the wax seal on the back achingly familiar.

"Oh." Was all Harry could think to say.

"Yes. It was lying in front of the fireplace when I came in… I assume it was dropped down the chimney."

Harry nodded. "Most likely."

There was a long pause while the Minister considered that news… "The letter is from Minerva McGonagall, requesting that you be given tenure for one school term, starting in two weeks." He sighed. "Have you heard about this?"

Harry shook his head. Tenure? Hogwarts? "Nothing."

The Minister shrugged. "I suppose you'll have a letter waiting for you at home."

That'd be right. He didn't receive owls at the office, for obvious reasons. "Does it say what they want me for?"

The Minister read from the paper. " _To assist in teaching a series of classes that we hope will give the students a greater understanding of the 1998 wizarding war, and the implications thereof_."

That sounded like Muggle studies, or maybe history… or perhaps it was a new course. It made sense. Some of Harry's friends had kids that were attending Hogwarts now. In fact, this would be Rose's first year.

That was a weird thing to think… Ron and Hermione were sending their first kid off to Hogwarts…

"If you would like to go," The Minister's voice broke Harry from his musings, "I will of course approve the leave."

Somehow that didn't surprise him. Harry's office might be in the Muggle world, but he was paid by the Ministry of _Magic_.

"You've been an exemplary Ambassador for your kind, Potter," The Minister carried on, "and the nature of _incidents_ over the past year don't trouble me enough to deny you the time off." He waved a hand, indicating that the meeting was finally over. "Let me know by Friday what your decision is."

"Yes, Sir… thank you."

Go back to Hogwarts? After all of this time? The idea was at once appealing, and appalling.

He hadn't gone back to complete eighth year. Hermione had, of course, but he and Ron had taken up the Ministry's offer to train the DA members as aurors, rather than sitting their N.E.W.T.s. Actually, since the Battle, the only times he'd gone back to the school were for the official memorial events. The place just… just haunted him.

So many people he cared about had died there. He'd never shaken the feeling that it was somehow all his fault. If he'd just discovered the horcruxes earlier, or if he'd trusted Dumbledore enough to trust Snape…

But maybe it was time to deal with all of that. Avoiding Hogwarts didn't change anything… and nothing would change the past. He'd done the best he could back then – as Ron and Hermione always tried to tell him – and despite their losses, they'd won. They'd killed Voldemort.

Besides, it's not like he would be alone. McGonagall was still Headmistress of the school and Hagrid was still the groundsman. Not to mention that Neville was the Herbology professor, and _Luna_ of all people was teaching a reportedly riveting Care of Magical Creatures course.

Harry chuckled to himself, imagining what one of those classes would look like. They'd cover Wrackspurts in first year, no doubt… and Nargles or whatever they were in second…

Maybe he should just go for it. He'd been working this dry office job for almost eight years now. Maybe something different would be good for him. The whispers and stares might be an issue at first, but he knew from his own time at school that teenagers quickly became used to things, and the novelty of being taught by _Harry Potter_ would wear off within weeks.

So it was with that hesitantly positive mindset that he headed home that evening.

"Evening, Sir." Kreacher greeted him at the door, reaching – as always – to take Harry's coat. "Good day at work?"

"Yeah, fine thanks." Harry handed the coat over, sniffing the air. "Smells amazing in here. What's for dinner?"

Kreacher inclined his head in thanks, his cloying subservience had definitely mellowed over the years. He'd become almost assertive, for a house elf. He was no Dobby, but then, no other elf was.

"Lasagne." The elf answered as he trotted off down the hall, going to brush Harry's coat down, empty the pockets, and hang it up, no doubt. Maybe with a few sprigs of lavender from the garden tucked into the inside pocket. He was very thorough.

" _Awesome_! I'll be down in ten." Harry called to his retreating back. Kreacher never let him eat without first washing his hands.

House Elves had gone through a hard time with the rest of the wizarding world. They were granted – under Hermione's government – autonomy… but in the immediate aftermath of the Battle, many had been displaced.

They were viewed as possessions, so there had been controversy when it came to managing Elves that had worked for Deatheaters. Deatheater estates had been dissolved… but while it was relatively easy to destroy or contain normal dark magic objects, what was the Ministry supposed to do with the sentient ones?

It had taken a special task force to locate, interview, and ultimately decide the fate of the diasporic Elves. Those who had been indoctrinated with the _magic-is-might_ propaganda were sent to work in large institutions, where the resident elves could assist in their rehabilitation. Those who were merely homeless were found good families to serve.

In fact, Winky – Barty Crouch's old elf – was now living with the Weasleys at The Burrow. They had given her the choice to be free or not, and she'd chosen the latter. She spent her days cheerfully cleaning up the haphazard house, dressed in an immaculately pressed pillowcase, with a pretty length of ribbon for a belt. She'd never been happier (and neither has Mrs Weasley).

That was the way of things now. Elves were given the choice to be free, or to serve. Which was freedom, really, but they didn't see it like that.

Kreacher, for example, now did the washing. Harry could pass him all the socks he liked, but the elf would still be bound to Grimmauld Place, because he _chose_ to be enslaved. It was a strange system, though it seemed to be working.

The Black house was a great example of that.

If Harry thought the transformation in the place had been huge back when they were hunting horcruxes, it was nothing compared to now. The house was beautiful. The ghoulish old paintings and pureblood memorabilia was gone, much of it sent to the Memorial and Magical History museums. Even the screaming portrait of Sirius's mother was hanging in a darkened display cabinet somewhere.

It had taken a lot of aurors a lot of work to remove the more sinister objects. Kreacher had lent his own brand of magic to assist them, which had proven more effective than many had anticipated… and now the house was light and airy. The door handles gleamed and the windows sparkled. The walls were all painted a light gold, and even in winter, they gave the place a warm, summery feel.

But it was Kreachers sense of pride, of confidence in his place in the household, that had made all the difference. Grimmauld Place shone with the loving care of an elf who was truly house-proud, rather than cringingly servile, and though it was subtle, it was an undeniably massive difference.

For the first time, Harry had his very own home. One that he wasn't borrowing off others, or intruding on. He came back to this house every night, glad to be there. To sit down to a good meal and listen to the radio and read the mail at the huge kitchen table…

Speaking of mail.

The folded vellum was sitting conspicuously on top of all of the other letters. Kreacher had clearly wanted to make sure that it wouldn't be missed.

 _Harry Potter  
12 Grimmauld Place  
Islington  
London_

With a forkful of lasagne in one hand, he cracked the seal and flipped the paper open with the other.

 _Dear Harry._

 _I hope this finds you well, though I suspect I would have heard about it if you weren't._

 _I am writing to offer you a temporary position at Hogwarts, the unusual nature of which is probably best explained in person._

 _If you are interested, would you be available to meet with both me and the wizard you would be co-teaching the class with, at about six thirty this evening? Let Phineas know either way, and if you're willing to meet, open your floo. I'll bring a treacle tart from the kitchens._

 _I hope you don't mind that I sent a letter requesting a terms leave to your Muggle minister. Presumptuous, I know, but I have been told that muggle bureaucracy can lead to delays, and with the term starting in only a fortnight, it seemed prudent to get the ball rolling._

 _Whether you take the job or not, you are always welcome at Hogwarts. You are missed in these halls._

 _Deepest Regards,  
Minerva McGonagall_

Harry read and re-read the letter, McGonagall's handwriting invoking deep nostalgia. How many notes, how many reports had Harry read with that exact same writing?

 _If you are interested…_ He _was_ interested. Even if he didn't end up taking the job, he wanted to know what it was about. What class could be so different that it had to be explained in person?

He glanced at his watch… twelve past six already. Blast.

"Kreacher!" He called, not flinching at the loud _crack_ that heralded the elf's appearance. "We're having guests… six thirty."

"Very good sir, how many?"

"Two… and one of them is bringing something sweet."

The old elf smiled, inclined his head in the now-familiar gesture that showed he totally understood and no more instruction was necessary, and shuffled over to put the kettle on.

Harry shovelled the rest of his dinner into his mouth, pushing back his chair as soon as he was done. "That was great, Kreach." He rushed as he dropped his napkin to the table. "Sorry about the mess, but…"

Kreacher just waved a nonchalant hand, leaving Harry to dash upstairs.

"Hey Phin… Phi-in…" Harry stood impatiently in front of the blank frame that hung above his desk, a portrait of an old Hogwarts headmaster… He called again. "Phineas, haven't got all day here."

A wheezing chuckle told Harry that the old Slytherin was there, listening. "I know you're there." He sighed. "Can you please tell Minerva that I'm sorry for the late reply, but if she's still able, I'll see her here at six thirty?"

A figure edged in from the side of the frame, smirking. "Cutting it very fine, Potter."

"I know." Harry rolled his eyes. "Please just tell her. I have to go lift the wards." He waved his wand to illustrate, then kept loping up the stairs, casting a slight alteration to his floo wards as he went.

"Half an hour should be enough, set it so that only two arrive…" He mumbled to himself as he made the changes. Strange. There was a time that this house wasn't connected to the network at all… and even after that, he wouldn't have let someone he didn't know into his home at all, let alone via the fireplace. Now, it hadn't even occurred to him to ask Phineas who the other teacher was… definitely not best auror practice.

A lot had changed in the past decade. Maybe his desk job was turning him soft.

Bursting into his room, he stood undecided for a second. What was he even hurrying for? He felt rushed, sure… but that was because of the short notice, rather than him having to actually _do_ anything. A quick glance into the mirror over the mantelpiece showed him that he looked completely normal. His cheeks a bit flushed from the dash up the stairs, but otherwise, he just looked like he'd spent all day at work. Hair as scruffy as ever, shirt a little crumped, tie loose.

He'd change. That'd make him feel more grounded. He felt weird receiving people in his own home while dressed in a suit. Suits were for work and weddings.

He pulled off his tie, threw it on the bed. Unbuttoned his pants, tugging his shirt free, before reaching up to pull it off over his head.

"Blast." He grumbled as his head caught, then again as he fumbled to undo another button… then swore outright as a roar of green flashed through the thin fabric. The _floo!_

He hissed, jerking to try pull his face free of his shirt. What the _hell_ was this person – surely not McGonagall – doing coming into his _bedroom_? The living room had a perfectly functional fireplace.

He heard the _clop_ of feet stepping out onto the carpet, then a slight pause, before an eerily familiar voice spoke in a sardonic drawl.

"Well, this is very Churchill of you, Potter… should I escort you to the bathroom?"

Harry baulked, tearing the shirt down to finally gawk at the man standing a foot away from him, smirking.

Tall, but not as tall as Harry. His thin arms were folded lightly across his thin chest. Long, white-blonde hair was pulled back into – of all things – a man bun. His face was as thin, his nose as pointed, his eyes as grey as Harry remembered… it was like looking straight back into his past.

Harry swallowed, years of auror training _screaming_ at him to snatch his wand from his back pocket… but his arms were still tangled in his sleeves, he'd never grab it in time… and besides, Malfoy didn't _look_ like he wanted to hurt him…

Malfoy…

 _Draco_.


	3. Chapter 3

A moment passed, Harry just standing there, staring blankly at Draco and wondering what the hell was going on.

Slowly, the smirk on Draco's face faltered. "It _was_ a joke, Potter." So like his teenaged self, but slower, more measured than he used to speak.

"What are you _doing_ here?" was the first thing that Harry could think to ask.

Draco shrugged his narrow shoulders. "I've never been here before." He gestured with a long, pale hand. "There were three hearths open, and only one with a person in front of it. It seemed the logical place to step out." His grey eyes openly assessed Harry's predicament, smirk back in place. "Obviously, I was wrong."

Harry nodded, clenching his jaw. The pieces were clicking together, _Draco_ must be the other teacher… but why would anyone want Draco and Harry to take a class together? They hadn't spoken since… since the trials…

He felt a blush crawl up his cheeks.

Completely unconcerned, Draco crossed the room to the open door. "I'll leave you to get changed, if you could point me in the right direction?"

"Uh, left, downstairs."

And left he went, his footfalls fading down the hall.

"Kreacher." Harry croaked.

The _crack_ sounded immediately. "Sir?" And there Kreacher was, waiting patiently for directions.

Harry managed to pull a hand from its sleeve, freeing the other while he spoke to the elf. "Could you find the guy that's wandering around the house, and take him to the drawing room?"

"Of course."

"It's Draco Malfoy…"

Kreacher's eyes widened at that, and for good reason. It was an unprecedented turn of events. "Very well." He rasped, and hurried from the room. Kreacher was a reformed elf… the idea of having a Death Eater in the house, even a reformed one, would have him on his guard. It certainly had _Harry_ on edge.

He took a moment to steady himself, took three deep breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He relaxed his shoulders, adjusted his posture… the simple little tricks that helped him to regain his equilibrium.

He _had_ been working in that office too long. Eight years ago, he never would have been caught with his metaphorical pants down like that. Not that he wanted to spend his life jumping at every shadow, but his reaction, getting so embarrassed and _flustered_ , was unacceptable. He was an auror, time to start acting like it.

So what did the auror _know_? Draco Malfoy was in his house. It was surprising, but it wasn't dangerous. He hadn't registered on the Ministry's radar even once since his trial. He'd been a model citizen, going back to finish his N.E.W.T.s, then attending a muggle university. He'd used the remnants of his parents fortune to study psychology, and had been largely living and working in the muggle world since his graduation, as he wasn't too welcome in the wizarding one.

No, Draco wasn't dangerous. Harry's response to Malfoy's sudden appearance was just a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and plain old conditioning. Just because they'd hated each other as kids, it didn't warrant any suspicion now. He'd approach this meeting like he would any other.

With that in mind, he pulled on some clean clothes, gave himself another mental shakedown, and made his way downstairs. Voices floated up to him, too muffled for him to hear what they were saying, but he could make out Draco's lilt, which was followed by a dry, feminine laugh. McGonagall.

Kreacher had already served them drinks. A steaming cup of tea sat at McGonagall's elbow, while Malfoy swirled red wine around an oversized glass.

McGonagall stood, beaming when he strode into the room, her robes flapped against his legs when she gave him a brief, hard, hug. "Good to see you, Potter."

"It's been too long." He smiled as he let her go, then turned to extend his hand to Draco.

"Sorry about before." He said lightly, like they were sharing a personal joke. "Caught me off guard."

Malfoy's fingers were cool around his hand. "Clearly." There was a sparkle in his eyes, which skated down to appraise the black sweater Harry had pulled on. He already looked like he owned the place, settled into a high-backed chair, legs crossed at the ankle. He exuded the same arrogant confidence that his father had.

"So…" Harry threw himself down onto the sofa, "tell me about this job." No point in beating around the bush.

He watched as the other two communicated through raised eyebrows and subtle head nods. After a second, Minerva cleared her throat.

"Lena Crowley has been offered a term's residency at Beauxbatons. I'm taking her absence as an opportunity to trial a new approach to Defence Against the dark Arts." Her eyes peered at Harry over the top of her glasses, gauging his response. He just nodded, indicating that she should continue, but already his mind was throwing up questions.

"Draco had raised some very good points about how the curriculum could be changed, and I tend to agree with his arguments. As well as purely defensive magic, we need to focus on teaching preventative strategies."

"Preventative?" That seemed like a sensible idea, but how would one prevent dark magic?

"Learning to identify the traits that make one vulnerable to manipulation, and what we can do to help those who are at greater risk." Draco's voice was low, but sure. "Taking a more _human_ approach to dark magic, alongside teaching disarming spells, and how to capture Cornish Pixies."

Harry couldn't help but smile at that… Professor Lockheart's disastrous DADA lessons were legendary.

Draco continued. "Voldemort gained control from his followers. As talented as he was, he could not have come to power without them, and he secured followers by using fear and the promise of reward. He needed _leverage_ in order to retain loyalty. Teach a generation of students how to mitigate that leverage, and it won't be there for the next Dark Witch or Wizard to exploit."

Leverage… like how Voldemort had threatened to kill Draco's family in 6th year, made him feel that he had no one to turn to. It had been one of the Dark Lord's main strategies. Divide and conquer.

"It's a really good idea." Harry conceded, seeing the flash of satisfaction in Malfoy's eyes. "But why choose me to teach it, and why with you?"

"Co-teaching was my idea." Minerva interjected. "Draco doesn't have all of the practical skills necessary to teach the class by himself, and the obvious choice to partner him is you. Your auror skills are needed, but also the both of you were so deeply involved with the war, you're uniquely positioned to talk about it."

"Though we were on opposite sides." Draco butted in before Harry could ask why Draco should teach at all. "Which is why it's important that I teach the class too. It's all well and good for the great Harry Potter to stand up and declare what makes a textbook Death Eater… but it's far more significant if the Death Eater himself explains what put him in that situation." His gaze was steady as he held Harry's eye. He didn't seem antagonistic, just determined.

"Having the two of you will provide balance." McGonagall agreed. "Don't underestimate the power of representation. Having a former Death Eater working beside an auror, with the support of the school… it allows the students to _see_ that it's never too late to make the right choices."

"Like Snape." Harry said quietly. Yes, this course made sense. He looked up at Malfoy. "There'll be a lot of very angry parents… letting a Death Eater teach at the school."

"It's not a situation I'm unfamiliar with, Potter. Some of our best teachers have been unpopular choices…" McGonagall sounded sad at that. Was she thinking of Remus?

Malfoy's mouth twisted back into that crooked smirk. "You can tell them you'll keep me in line, turn me into a ferret if I so much as sneeze the wrong way."

Harry ignored Draco's baiting. He thought, instead.

He wanted to do it. He wasn't drastically keen on the idea of spending hours with Malfoy every day, but the course itself was new, exciting… and he'd enjoyed teaching, back when they'd formed Dumbledore's Army.

But hours, every day, with Draco? He looked over to where the blond was watching him, his eyes narrow over the top of his wine glass. There was bad blood between them. Sure, they hadn't spoken in well over a decade, but people don't just forgive and forget the kind of things they'd done to each other.

Granted, Harry had never _deliberately_ tried to kill Malfoy, but he almost had, none the less. Draco still bore the scars from Harry's Sectumsempra curse. Guilt cringed in his stomach as he looked at the thin, pale line that slashed up Draco's cheek and across the bridge of his nose… how could he look at that every day?

Wait a second… was he really considering passing up this chance, just because he knew that – at some point – he and Malfoy would need to have an awkward conversation? He was being a coward.

"I'll do it." He blurted, surprising himself. Surprising Draco, too, if his raised eyebrows were any indication.

"If you'd like to take some time to think about it, Potter …" McGonagall started, but Harry shook his head.

"It's only one term, and I've been promised the leave, if I want it." He grinned. "Count me in."

"Well in that case." Minerva put her teacup on its saucer with a _clink_. "I think I need something stronger… for a toast."

McGonagall left after two large whiskeys and a huge slice of treacle tart. "I'm too old to eat sweets like that." She grumbled as she adjusted her robes.

"Not too old for the single malt though, Minerva?" Draco drawled from where he was leaning against the mantelpiece.

The woman just chuckled, reaching out to squeeze his arm in a familiar, affectionate way. "When you're my age, it's medicinal." She snickered, then clasped Harry's hands in hers. "I'll be in touch. You know how to contact me if you need to."

"G'night, Minerva." Harry squeezed her fingers, and watched as she stepped into the hearth, green flames engulfing her as she spun away.

"She's far more sentimental than she used to be." Malfoy's voice was smooth. "Twenty years ago, she would've clipped me around the ear for that."

Harry laughed. "Twenty years ago, you would've hexed me when my shirt was caught round my head."

Draco just smirked again. Harry didn't know what to think about that smirk. At first he'd thought it just Malfoy being the conceited git that he remembered from school, but he wasn't sure. Over the past few hours, Draco had been sarcastic, but not scathing. Dry, but not derisive. Maybe that slight sneer was actually just the guys smile.

"Yes, well… things change." He said simply, holding Harry's gaze for a measured moment. He seemed to be daring Harry to say something…

"You don't want me to take the job, do you?" It was a risk, asking a question like that, but if they were going to work together, they needed to get this out of the way.

"Not particularly." His gaze was still level, not a hint of discomfort on his face.

"Why not?" Harry had never been the best at interrogation.

Malfoy let a long breath out through his nose. "I'll be having another whiskey."

"Sure."

Draco moved languidly, confidently. Harry watched him as he stalked around the room, scooping up both their tumblers before he moved to pour the two – generous – drinks. He'd discarded his jacket earlier in the evening, and without it, Harry could see just how skinny Malfoy was.

Narrow shoulders, narrow hips. That ridiculously hipster man bun was undercut, and it made his thin neck look even thinner. But despite his slender physique, he didn't seem delicate or fragile at all. Maybe it was his haughty demeanour.

It was hard to believe that he and Harry were the same age. All of Harry's friends, including the ones that were married or had kids, were still goofy idiots. Even Hermione, the _Minister of Magic_ , was reduced to a giggling ninny (heh) at times. But something told him that Draco rarely, if ever, lost his cool anymore. Every movement he made seemed absolutely deliberate and completely considered. It made him seem very… grown up.

Thirty-six years old, and Harry still had a hard time thinking of himself as an adult.

"Thanks." Harry took the tumbler from Draco's long (thin) fingers, noting the ring that he wore on his middle finger. Silver, set with a huge square emerald. Typical Slytherin.

The typical Slytherin settled in his chair, took a sip of his drink. "This is actually quite good." He raised his glass. "I'm surprised." He was baiting Harry again.

Harry just smiled back. "Don't be, it was a gift."

"Ah, should have known." Harry expected him to smirk again, but his grey eyes just stayed steady, his face oddly blank as he started his explanation.

"I am aware that your practical skills are needed to teach the traditional curriculum, and agree that your presence is a good move, politically." He stated simply. "However, I am also aware that your fame follows you around like an over-excited Labrador, and I am… worried, that the novelty of having the Boy Who Lived teaching at Hogwarts will overshadow what I am actually trying to _achieve_ there."

His gaze didn't waver, his voice didn't falter, Harry didn't know what to say. This wasn't the response he'd been expecting.

"I have been waiting for this opportunity for _years_ , Potter, and this may be the only chance I am given to put my research into action. My reputation makes it nearly impossible for me to be taken seriously in the wizarding world. Being babysat by you, of all people, won't do me any favours professionally." He shrugged, still holding Harry's eyes as he took another sip of whiskey. "But it's out of my hands. I just ask that if you're really going to do this, that you take it seriously. It may be _just a term_ to you, but for me, it's the culmination of fifteen years of work."

Bloody hell.

What was he supposed to do now? Draco's face held no answers, it was perfectly composed, like he'd just been talking about the weather. He _could_ just contact McGonagall and tell her he didn't want to do it anymore. They'd find another auror to work with easily enough. Though… he didn't want to.

He wanted to help with this new course. Over the years, when auror work had died off, he'd toyed with the idea of becoming a teacher … but then he'd nestled into his rut, and just… not. No. He _wanted_ to try this. He needed this.

And, though it was juvenile, he wanted to prove Malfoy wrong. Draco thought that Harry was a liability? He'd make him eat his words. He'd make a success of this if it killed him… and he'd make it _Draco's_ success.

"Yeah, OK." He agreed, wishing for a second that he could match Malfoy's eloquence. Another thing that made him seem so very adult. "You're the boss."

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Am I now?"

Harry nodded. "It's your course, right?"

"Right."

"So you're the boss."

A thin smile curled up his mouth. Not the smirk, a smile. "I seem to remember you weren't particularly good with authority figures, Potter."

"As you said," Harry grinned, "things change."


	4. Chapter 4

"… _YOU BETTER KEEP YOUR BAGS PACKED, POTTER, BECAUSE IF YOU THINK I'M GOING TO SIT BY AND LET YOU AND THAT MALFOY SCUM POISON THE MINDS OF OUR CHILDREN, THEN YOU HAVE ANOTHER THING COMING!"_

Harry just stared as the parchment – that had been flapping in his face and _screaming_ abuse for the past minute – curled up on itself and burst into flame.

He'd just had a howler… His first one ever. He'd known there would be backlash, once The Prophet published the story on the new Hogwarts Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers… but really? A _Howler?_ It seemed so… childish.

Kreacher tutted as the ash floated down onto the table. "I waxed that today." He grumbled, climbing up on to a chair to wipe the fine grit away.

"Sorry, Kreach." Harry pushed his plate away. "I'll, uh, try _not_ to get any more?"

Kreacher chuckled his desiccated chuckle as he dusted away the grime. "You're lucky it didn't explode, sir. It came with the morning owl."

"Damn." Harry shook his head. "Wonder if Hermione's gotten any."

Kreacher nodded his wrinkled old head and climbed back down to the floor. "I imagine Mr Malfoy is receiving the lions share, however."

Ah, of course. Actually… Harry checked his watch. Damn, he was going to be late. "Talking about Malfoy, I gotta run." He pushed his chair back and stood up.

He'd seen Draco twice since that first strange meeting, both times at Grimmauld Place, both times unremarkable. Draco never wavered from his wry, efficient, unflappable self, no matter how much he drank or how much Harry teased him. Malfoy, always impeccably dressed in well-tailored suits, countered every one of Harry's stupid comments with a dry remark, or a raised eyebrow.

Harry was, if he was going to be honest, quite intrigued to see if his old nemesis would be any more animated on his home turf… and to see if he ever wore anything but suits.

He dragged his phone from his pocket, opened his chat log with Malfoy to check the address and study the photo one last time (it was brilliant working with a wizard who also used technology… it made coordinating things so much easier) and closed his eyes, spinning on the spot to disapparate with a _crack_.

Ugh. He hated the feeling of apparating. The _squeezing_ , and how it felt like his eardrums were being pushed in. Even once he appeared (with another _crack)_ at the end of a deserted hallway, two steps away from Draco's apartment door, that awful pressure in his ears didn't ease.

He swallowed, trying to dislodge the sensation, before he knocked on the door.

Nothing.

Strange. Draco didn't seem like the type to just not show up, but he couldn't hear any footsteps approaching the door, he couldn't hear anything coming from inside the apartment at all…

It took a good three seconds before he realised what was going on.

It was a silencing charm. A strong one. _That_ was why his ears still felt clogged, when normally they cleared straight away.

He huffed. A charm this strong would mean that, while Harry couldn't hear anything happening inside the flat, Draco wouldn't be able to hear him knocking. Brilliant.

He was just shoving his hand into his pocket to grab his phone again, when a flash of red light shone beneath the door. If he hadn't been looking straight at it, he would have missed it… but he knew a magical blast when he saw one.

His wand was in his hand before he had time to think. He grasped the door handle in the other and had _alohomora_ click the lock open to burst into Malfoy's apartment.

 _DEATHSCUMGETYOUFINDEATERDAREPOTTERTHINKCURSEFRIENDSKILLEDFATHERDUMBLEDOREHOGWARTSWILLSNAPEDISGRACEYOUVOLDEMORTWARBLOODMUGGLEKILLEDCRUCIATUSFATHERONYOURSLEEPHANDSDIEDWANDHARRYGRAVESAROUNDSAVEDIMPERIUSLOSTDAUGHTERBATTLEMINERVAMALFOYTHROATMURDERER_

Noise assaulted Harry as soon as he broke through the barrier of the silencing charm, stopping him in his tracks. The room was full of furious, angry screaming, a cacophony of rage that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and threatened to deafen him if he didn't do something about it.

 _Inauritus._ He waved his wand at his own head, shuddered in relief at the blessed silence that plugged his ears, and cast his eyes around the room to take stock of the situation.

He was standing in an open plan apartment, all very modern, and sitting sideways at a desk against one wall, was Draco – in a suit – his chin propped in one hand, one eyebrow raised, and a dozen howlers rushing around his head.

He looked almost… _bored_. He definitely looked resigned. As Harry watched, standing there like a complete plonker with his wand drawn, Draco lifted his chin from his palm, and Harry's eyes followed the motion.

Draco's long, thin fingers were graceful, his wrist bending to fold his hand forward as his neck twisted to regard a clock on the wall. He then raised his eyes to the flailing howlers (even as one of them burst into flame), and gestured again, his expression clearly conveying that bored resignation. _Well, what can you do?_

Harry gawked. Again, Draco was making him feel like a stupid kid. Harry had been flustered by _one_ stupid howler… and here Malfoy was surrounded by the things, and he was completely calm.

He stood, his pale hand gesturing for Harry to come in. Harry did, shutting the door behind him. It was eerie, walking through the sparse apartment in complete silence. Not being able to hear your own footsteps was always weird.

Especially eerie when there were sporadic blasts of fire as the howlers wore themselves out.

Using pantomime, Harry accepted Draco's offer of a cup of tea, and watched those pale hands as they went about filling the kettle and measuring three precise scoops of tea leaves to drop in the pot. It seemed Draco did a lot of stuff _manually_ , without magic. It was something most witches and wizards found really strange, but that Harry quite liked. Even Hermione, a muggle born, did almost everything with some magical help… the change was refreshing. Draco clearly didn't rely on his wand as much as most wizards.

As they waited, awkwardly, for the kettle to boil, a final rush of flame signalled the last howler had burned itself out. Harry lifted the deafening charm from his own head. _Auritus._

"Sorry about that, Potter." Malfoy was perfectly composed as he lifted his own deafening charm. "Running late."

Harry shrugged, a little uncomfortable, like he'd just seen something he shouldn't have. "Not like howlers care about your schedule." He offered a wry smile. "Had one of my own today, actually…"

Draco's eyelids lowered, looking at Harry like he was a moron. Whoops.

But before he could say anything, there was a rustling back at the desk, and another piece of parchment rose into the air.

" _I'M GLAD YOU'LL BE AT HOGWARTS THIS TERM, MALFOY."_ A slow, low voice boomed menacingly through the room. _"NOW I'LL KNOW WHERE TO FIND YOU. SLEEP WITH ONE EYE OPEN, DEATH EATER."_ The parchment fizzed into ash. Not the bright burst of fire that consumed the others, but a dangerous, threatening burn.

Malfoy sighed. "There's always one." Another flick of his narrow wrist, and Harry could suddenly hear cars and voices as the silencing ward was lifted.

Harry sneered. "That's… charming." He watched the ash crumble to the floor. "What was that blast I saw?"

"Ah, so that's what brought you in, wand blazing?" Draco smirked. "One of them got impatient waiting for its turn, it exploded." He said lazily, like getting a sack full of howlers was a common occurrence. Which it probably was, for him.

"Oh." Was all Harry could think of to say. He knew howlers exploded if left too long… he didn't know that they could wait their turn. Though it did explain that last one.

Malfoy just scoffed. Harry didn't like that. He preferred Malfoy's caustic little remarks to his silence. The jibes were almost jokes, something Harry could counter and play along with. The pointed looks were as good as calling him an idiot, without giving him a chance to retaliate.

It's not like Harry was completely naive. He knew that Malfoy was hated by a lot of people, and he understood why. He didn't agree with it, but he understood.

He hadn't really considered, however, what it must be like to _live_ with that hate. Harry had lived through his own brushes with negative fame, and they'd been difficult, but they'd blown over. Draco had been dealing with it for eighteen years, maybe really for his whole life, to varying degrees… damn.

He wanted to ask about it. To ask if the howlers were a regular thing, or if it was just after press releases like the one the Daily Prophet had published. He wanted to ask if Draco was _safe_ … but something told him that Draco wouldn't be particularly open to those kinds of questions, so he kept his mouth shut.

Probably the wisest course of action.

Definitely the wisest course of action.

"I did ask Minerva if they could use pens, but she got that _look_ in her eye and started talking about the sanctity of tradition." Draco sighed, gazing contemplatively at the pen in his fingers, at the ink smear on his knuckle. "Quills and scrolls… the novelty wears thin very quickly."

Harry was laughing, sprawled out next to Draco on the leather sofa. "Honestly, I don't know how anyone read anything I wrote in first year. It took me ages to get the hang of sharpening the things."

Draco shook his head. "You pressed to hard. You shouldn't have to sharpen a quill often if you've got a light touch." He smirked. "Though I suppose I should consider who I'm talking to."

Harry just shrugged, still smiling. "Yeah, can't say I'm known for my _light touch_."

"No, you never were particularly subtle."

Harry snorted. "And you were? Jesus, Malfoy…"

A self-depreciating smile spread across Draco's face, Harry counted it as a win.

"I'm sure we both managed to keep a certain number of secrets." The Slytherin said cryptically, then effectively ended the conversation by asking if Harry had eaten.

Harry hadn't, so Draco ordered in some Indian food, and answered Harry's last questions about the first week of lessons while they waited for it to arrive.

Harry was quite nervous about teaching, though he wasn't about to tell Draco that. He'd been given copies of the terms plan, had even suggested changes to some of it, which had been written in. It's not like Harry didn't know, practically speaking, what to do…

He just felt like he had no idea what he was doing. Why were people going to let him teach a class? Even co-teach? It made no sense. It wasn't like when he was with Dumbledore's Army… back then, he was with his peers, all the kids _wanted_ to be there, it was all practical, and they were fighting against an oppressive system. So very different to being the dull old professor standing at the front of the room, droning on to a class of bored students…

"How weird do you think it's going to be, being called _Professor_ Malfoy?" He asked, stabbing his fork into the spicy red chicken pieces that Draco had spooned onto his plate.

The blond grimaced, a surprisingly unguarded expression. "Quite. Though not as bad as being called _Doctor_ Malfoy, which makes me sound like a Bond villain." He gave Harry a sideways look, clearly inviting him to make a joke about white cats or something, but Harry was distracted.

"You're a doctor?"

Grey eyes rolled. "I have my doctorate, yes. Surely that's in my _file_ … amongst all the other things."

"I haven't read your file." Harry stated. He hadn't. Ever. It felt too… voyeuristic. He didn't read the files of _anyone_ unless he had fit reason to. He'd even made Ron promise that he wouldn't go prying through Malfoy's paperwork in some misguided fit of over-protection. Ron hadn't liked that, but he'd agreed eventually.

Draco just blinked, his fork hovering in front of his face. "No?"

"No."

"Hmm." And he popped the chicken into his mouth, his eyes watching Harry thoughtfully as he chewed. "Well, I suppose that puts us on a more even footing, _Pro_ _fessor Potter_." He smiled after he finally swallowed his mouthful.

"Doctor Draco and Professor Potter." Harry smiled right back. "Sounds like a kids science show." Then something occurred to him. "Hold on, how do _you_ know about Bond villains?"

Those eyes rolled again. "I've been living Muggle for _years_ , Potter." He waved a hand at the big flat screen that perched on top of a cabinet across from them. "Television included."

 _Why_ did Harry's eyes always follow Draco's hands?

"In fact…" Malfoy continued, "I have a Netflix account, _and_ I have even been known to play games, from time to time."

"Yeah?" Harry's ears pricked up at that. "What you got?"

Draco sniffed. "I can't recite my entire Steam library off the top of my head."

"Well, what are you playing at the moment?" Harry asked.

"I'm re-playing Portal Two."

Childish excitement bubbled up in Harry's throat. Ron wasn't in to puzzle games, he liked blowing the heads off zombies and the like, so Harry rarely got the chance to play games like Portal with other people, and Portal was his _favourite_. "Have you played co-op?"

Draco shrugged, a wary look on his face. "Minimally."

"Got any plans tonight?"

The wary look deepened. "No."

"You do now." Harry held Malfoy's gaze, daring him to disagree.

Narrow nostrils flared when Draco finally gave in to Harry's beaming smile. "Fine. But if you're awful, I'm not above kicking you out."

Victory.

On more than one front, actually… when it turned out that Draco did indeed wear things other than suits. After finishing their dinner, he stalked up the stairs to the loft bedroom, and re-emerged a few minutes later in soft looking pants and a long-sleeved t shirt. His feet were as pale and thin as his hands, the sharp bones of his ankles showing under cropped cuffs.

Kinda hard to miss when he had his heels propped up on the coffee table.

"No, not there, _there,_ behind you." Draco growled. "Then come back down and place your other one on the ceiling again."

"OK, OK… hold on." Harry did what Malfoy asked, stifling a yawn. They'd been playing for _hours,_ and he was starting to get square eyes.

"Alright." The robot that Malfoy controlled (the orange one, P-body) leaped on to the aerial faith plate, was catapulted through an emancipation grid and into Harrys (or Atlas's) portal, to be flung through the air to the exit.

Two quick blasts, and Draco made a little _hmph_. "Come on through, Professor." Harry (Atlas) stepped through the orange portal, and they headed to the disassembly area.

"Hmm, back at the hub." Draco drawled when their characters were spat back out at the beginning. He dropped his controller into his lap and raised his arms to stretch. "Probably a good time to call it a night."

"Yeahp." Harry agreed, he was knackered. The last two weeks had been hectic, with wrapping up at work and training his replacement. Two days to blob out, then he'd be heading to the school on Monday, to get ready before all the students arrived on the 1st. "Pity Hogwarts doesn't do electricity… this has been fun."

"It has." Draco smirked again when Harry cracked an eye open to look at him. "Surprisingly."

Harry stood, scrubbed at his face with his hands. "Maybe it won't be as bad as you thought, working with me."

Draco _laughed_. A depreciating laugh, but a laugh none the less. "No, maybe it won't." _That_ was definitely a win. He leaned over to grab his wand off the coffee table, and Harry's ears popped when the silencing charm spread across the room.

"I'll get dinner next time, yeah?" Harry grinned, patting his pockets to make sure he had everything.

Draco just raised an eyebrow, he didn't need to say anything for Harry to hear his question. _Next time?_ But for some reason, that didn't bother him. He just smiled. "Well, see ya Monday, _Doctor_." He quipped, and disapparated before Malfoy could reply.

Kreacher wasn't around when Harry apparated straight into the kitchen, but there was a pot of hot tea sitting under the cosy. Harry poured himself a cup and leaned against the bench to drink it, still smiling to himself.


	5. Chapter 5

"Scared, Potter?"

Harry snorted with laughter. A couple of old lines had been resurrected over the past few days. Lines like 'Weasley is our king' and 'Wait 'til my father hears about this'… but he hadn't heard this one yet.

The last four days had been _fun_. They were supposed to be working on the new curriculum – and they did – but it didn't feel like work, certainly not like the dry, tedious work that Harry was used to.

There was a marked difference in Malfoy's behaviour when he was back at Hogwarts. He was more relaxed, like he was in his element. Harry had thought Draco was confident before, but sitting in the great hall under the enchanted ceiling at night, drinking and eating with the rest of the staff, he was _charming_. He was witty in a way that made McGonagall's familiar friendliness with him make total sense. She genuinely liked him.

He wasn't _warm_ , he was as wry and acerbic as ever, but there was no sting to his barbs. Every taunt was tempered with a sly smile that made the recipient feel like they were in on a private joke. Or, at least, Harry felt that way. He assumed the others did too… even Hagrid had taken a liking to the man who had almost cost him his job two decades ago. Though Hagrid always was a forgiving sort.

So when Draco turned to him and – with that _look_ in his eye – asked Harry if he was _scared_ , Harry just felt a weird rush of nostalgia and gratitude. Nostalgia, because Hogwarts wouldn't be home without Malfoy spitting insults at him… and gratitude because he _was_ scared, and Draco's joke made this moment just a little less terrifying.

"Should've worn brown pants." He replied, shaking his head slowly, but letting one side of his mouth twitch up.

Draco's nostrils flared. "That is vile, Potter… even for you." But he returned the smile. "Time to traumatise some third years." He declared, standing up even straighter (if that was possible) and striding off to open the classroom door to let in their first ever Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

"Let's hope _they're_ wearing brown pants…" Harry offered, letting his smile widen when he heard Draco's soft _huff_ of mirth. Not a laugh, he'd still only heard the one of them… but it was a win, definitely.

"Yes, yes… it's all very exciting. Just take your seats."

Twenty seconds in, and Draco already sounded jaded. The students were milling about, gawking, whispering… much like they had at the feast the night before. Doubtless each of these students would be pounced on in the halls at the end of class, by other kids, desperate to know what the _Chosen One_ and the former Death Eater were like.

The students finally decided on their seats, shuffled about with their bags. "No need for books or quills today." Draco waved a dismissive hand in the air, and the class fell oddly silent… expectant.

He was a natural, that _poise_ drawing every eye in the room, though not all of the looks he was getting were friendly.

"Professor Potter and I are both well aware of our reputations, and of the furore that co-teaching this class has caused." He waited for a second, to make sure that everything he was (and wasn't) saying was sinking in. "So todays class will simply be making our introductions, setting our expectations, and answering any pressing questions."

"I, as you are most likely aware, am Professor Malfoy. I was a student here at Hogwarts during the last war, and I was – at the time – a Death Eater." He paused for a beat, raising an eyebrow slightly at the expected gasps of incredulous disbelief. "As you are all third years, I suspect you understand what that means. However, if you are at any point unfamiliar with any terms we use, you are encouraged to raise your hand and ask."

"Actually," Harry butted in, "you're encouraged to ask whatever you need to at any time."

Draco nodded, completely unfazed by Harry's interjection. "Indeed. Professor McGonagall has us co-teaching this class so that we can help you to understand how Voldemort came to power. We _want_ you to comprehend the concepts that we talk about, so that you can prevent yourselves and others from making the same mistakes we did. We _want_ you to ask questions."

Harry was amazed. He'd known, obviously, what Draco was going to be talking about. This was going to perhaps be one of the hardest lessons of the entire term. But his colleague was absolutely in control. While Harry could feel his cheeks were dark, and his fingers twitching with an odd kind of stage fright… Malfoy was entirely composed. As pale as ever, his gaze steady.

"Apologies, I'm ahead of myself." Draco was smiling at him, waiting for him to speak.

"Uh. Yeah!" Harry groaned inwardly. What a dignified start. "I'm Professor Potter." He couldn't help but smile at the giggle that rumbled around the class. "Yes, the alliteration is unfortunate… I was at school with Professor Malfoy, and fought in the Battle of Hogwarts. I now work as an auror for the Ministry." He halted. He was sure he'd had more to say than that…

What was he supposed to do now? Draco was looking at him expectantly, but Harry was drawing a blank.

"Didn't you _kill_ Voldemort?" A girl rushed, jamming her hand into the air while she blurted out her question.

Harry nodded. "In the end, yes… but it _was not_ a one-man effort. I had a lot of help." He put his hand up for silence, the air suddenly thick with anticipation. "I know we just told you to ask questions whenever you need to. But we're going to do a quick round of introductions first, so we can start to learn your names… and then you can interrogate us as much as you want until class ends. Cool?"

He didn't miss Draco's look, a slight, but relieved smile… and he wondered if Malfoy was still worried that his _fame_ would hijack the class…

"Um, I'm, um, Tammy Godwin." A Hufflepuff girl stood nervously at her seat, the last of the students to stand and say what they wanted from the course this term. "My aunt told me that you got to, um, fight a boggart with, um, Professor Lupin?" Tammy's nervous face relaxed a bit at Harry's sudden smile. He'd _loved_ those lessons, despite all of the angst associated with them. "So, I'd like to do that, if we can."

Harry laughed outright, jotting down _BOGGART_ on the page of notes that lay on the desk behind him.

"If we find one, then we definitely can." Draco nodded. "May I ask your aunt's name?"

"Parvati Patil." The girl offered, her cheeks blazing even redder than they had been.

It had been like that with the whole class. Almost everyone had some kind of connection to Harry, or Draco, or both. The few muggle-born students looked almost relieved that they didn't have to sit through any kind of quizzing or polite enquiries of health and happiness.

"There's some good stuff here." Harry mused once Tammy had sat down. "I've already spoken to McGonagall about the Patronus thing… might be able to swing an evening class or something?"

" _Professor_ McGonagall." Draco breathed as he leaned over Harry's shoulder to glance at the paper, before turning back to the room of waiting faces.

"Now, we open to the floor." Malfoy cast a gracious smile out over the class, and if Harry wasn't completely mad, a pair of Slytherin girls actually _simpered_. Oh dear… this wasn't going to be a Lockhart situation, was it?

"You can ask us anything… but we may refuse to answer if it's too personal… or we might just think about it and get back to you." Harry spoke up, trying to convey the _point_ of allowing questions like this. "Like Professor Malfoy said before, we want you to understand _why_ we made some of the choices we made back then, and how to avoid, or help other people avoid making the poor ones… so you need to get comfortable asking us stuff that might feel… well… feel weird to ask a teacher."

"And we need to get comfortable answering." Malfoy added. His voice soft, but still somehow carrying to every ear in the room.

"Yeah, and that." Harry agreed. "So… anyone have anything they want to ask either of us? About the war, or the course, or anything?"

There was a hesitant, heavy silence. Harry could almost _feel_ the curiosity in the air, but no one wanted to go first. He glanced over at Draco, who was watching the students with a kind of detached benevolence. They'd discussed what they'd do in this situation… _wait_. Eventually, their inquisitiveness would outweigh their trepidation. He felt stupid, just leaning against the desk, quiet… but it worked.

Whispers started up. At first they were surreptitious, but when it became clear that they wouldn't be told off, the students started hushed conversations amongst themselves. Then a hand rose in to the air.

"Yes, Cate, wasn't it?"

"Yessir." Cate flung her head back to flick her hair over her shoulder. A Slytherin girl. "I was just wondering, if you were a Death Eater, did you have that Dark Mark thing?"

Draco nodded. "Yes, I did." His left arm turned out just a touch, indicating where it had been.

Cate's eyes widened, she leaned forward a little. "Do you still have it?"

Harry squirmed. This seemed almost lewd. It might have just been morbid curiosity, but there was something almost predatory in the girl's dark eyes.

Malfoy, however, was as stalwart as ever. "The mark faded after Voldemort's death." He said simply. "When he was alive, the Dark Mark was akin to a muggle tattoo. Now, however, it has faded to a simple scar."

Harry could picture it. He'd seen enough of them during his auror investigations. The old ones, from the first war, were sometimes a little darker, with an almost metallic sheen. But Draco's would look like someone had carved the snake pattern into his skin with a scalpel… like that horrific scarification body modification that some muggles were into.

"Can we _see_ it?" Cate's voice was almost breathless, her eyes shining.

"No." There was no antagonism or hesitance in his voice… just a statement of fact. "What remains of the mark is not a novelty to be goggled at, but a reminder of how very close we came to destruction… which was largely enough due to my actions. I am not against showing you the mark, but now is not the time."

His eyes held Cate's as her gaze hardened. She was clearly used to getting her way. She huffed, sat back in her seat.

"Why are you even _here_?" A voice called from the back, and all eyes turned to a sullen looking Hufflepuff boy whose hand was only _just_ raised off the desk.

"Calvin?"

"Yeah." Calvin sneered. "My dad says you're a disgrace, and McGonagall is mad to let you back here."

" _Professor_ McGonagall." Malfoy said lightly, the slightest smile playing at the edge of his lips.

" _Professor_ McGonagall." The boy acquiesced. "Dad says you should be ashamed of what…"

"Hey." Harry started, lurching to stand up and cut off this kids rant, but Draco's fingertips were on his sleeve in a flash, his grey eyes darting to his in the briefest of looks. _Let him speak_.

There was a pause, Calvin's stare darted between the two teachers. "Go on." Draco urged. It could almost sound dangerous, Snape-like, but Calvin surged forward.

"You should be _ashamed_ of what you did. Letting Death Eaters into Hogwarts, getting Dumbledore _killed."_ Maybe he thought he'd be cut off before he could speak his mind, and now he was speaking it, he wanted to be stopped. He cut off his own words with a snap, glaring, and blushing.

Draco nodded, slowly. "You said your father was in second year, the year of the battle?"

Calvin nodded warily. "Yeah, and _he_ said that he remembers you from his first year… that you were mad." A nasty smile turned up his mouth. "Said Potter almost killed you, too."

Whoa, Harry hadn't been expecting that.

" _Professor_ Potter, Calvin." Malfoy said wearily, like the casual use of names was the most distressing thing about this conversation. "Is there anything else you'd like to add before I attempt to answer your question?"

Taken aback, Calvin shook his head.

"Very well. You asked me why I am here… and in essence, you answered the question for me." Malfoy put his hands behind his back. "In my sixth year, your fathers first, I let Death Eaters into the school, using a vanishing cabinet that I found in a rather odd room. The arrival of the Death Eaters forced Professor Severus Snape's hand, and he killed Professor Dumbledore. It transpired eventually that Dumbledore _knew_ of what I was doing, and had planned his own death in order to protect me and my family. I am, of course, ashamed of myself. Not only for this, but for many other choices that I made during that time."

He was still completely poised. His voice and hands even, his back straight. If he was feeling any emotional discomfort at all, his body wasn't showing it. It almost contradicted his words… almost. Harry knew well enough that there was no way Malfoy would _ever_ admit shame unless he meant it, even if it played into some plan somehow. No… he was genuine, Harry was sure of that. He was absolutely genuine, but incredibly, unbelievably disciplined.

"It is that shame, however, that led me to seek answers as to why I behaved the way I did. I was not much older than you when Voldemort returned, and not much older than that when I was marked as a Death Eater. My family were called upon by Voldemort to serve him, and being underage, with nowhere I felt I could turn, I was put into a rather impossible predicament."

"Excuses." Calvin snorted. "Most other people fought against him."

"I do not make excuses for my actions, I do seek to _explain_ them, however." Draco continued. "To that end, I decided to study psychology at a muggle university after completing my NEWTs. For those who are not familiar with the term, psychology is similar to mind-healing, but is infinitely more complex and nuanced, due to muggles having to heal without magic. However, as I was seeking answers, rather than solutions, the muggle degree was more… fitting, to my needs."

"I studied psychology for four years, to then spend another four years completing my doctorate in Social Psychology. Specifically looking into group dynamics and social influence, which is the study of how people are manipulated by leaders and peer groups, how decision making and perception of self are swayed by various influences…"

He paused, tilted his head slightly to look directly at Calvin. "I have dedicated myself to understanding _why_ I had done the things that I did, and how I was put in to that situation. I have now amassed, I believe, enough knowledge to assist others in learning how to recognise the dynamics that make dangerous leaders, such as Voldemort, and vulnerable lackeys, such as myself." He shrugged, a seemingly careless gesture, but one that Harry knew would be completely considered. "I am here to teach you how to make better choices than I did, Calvin, because I _am_ ashamed of my actions, and seek to right them as best I can."

He could have sounded angry, or righteous, or scathing… but he didn't. He just sounded honest, and slightly sympathetic. The entire class was fixated on him, every face a mix of confused understanding and empathy.

"Have I answered your question?" He offered, no challenge to his voice, but no submission, either. Harry was in awe.

"Yeah." Calvin grunted, not willing to be seen to back down, but clearly thoroughly perplexed. Harry could only imagine what kind of monster Draco had been painted as at home.

"And yes, Professor Potter did almost kill me." He raised a thin finger to tap lightly at the scar on his cheek, a small, _no hard feelings_ gesture between him and the boy that he'd just inadvertently humiliated. "An honest mistake on his part, or so I've been led to believe."

And Harry laughed. He couldn't help it. _Tension_ had built up so dense in the room that Harry thought he'd pop if there wasn't some kind of release. "Let that be a lesson to everyone." He grinned. "Not to experiment with strange spells you find written in the margins of old books."

Draco nodded sagely. "Brilliant advice, as always, Mister Potter." At least he wasn't pressing the _Professor_ thing as hard as he could. "I'll keep that in mind. Now… are there any more questions?"

Almost every hand in the room shot up.


	6. Chapter 6

"Morning Professor!" A stand of young Gryffindors called as Harry swanned past, careful not to swipe any of them with the broomstick he had hefted over his shoulder.

"Morning!" He beamed, almost whistling with revolting good cheer. He was in an indecently good mood, had been for days. This strange experiment was going spectacularly well.

News of Draco's deft handling of Calvin had spread across the school like wildfire, and by the end of that first weekend, Malfoy was widely regarded as some kind of redemptive anti-hero. There was still a certain degree of suspicion and hostility from some students, but all in all, any fears Harry had quietly harboured about the classes being derailed not by Harry's fame, but Draco's infamy, were unfounded.

Not that Harry's fame hadn't caused a few hiccups. He'd had a few awkward moments where eyelashes had been batted his way, and more than a few hero-worshipping incidents... but it seemed that having Malfoy by his side was a weird kind of antidote for that behaviour. For some reason, standing next to a Death Eater made him seem more human to those that would look at him as an idol.

Human enough that the students were actually engaged, actually participating. Talking together about what their strengths and weaknesses were, and how they could be exploited for good or ill… it was exhausting, sometimes harrowing, but satisfying work. Hard work. All of the classes were difficult, though that first lot were easily the worst.

" _The third and fourth years were always going to be the most trying."_ Draco had said _. "Without the healthy fear of authority of the first and second years, but also without the intelligent rationale of the older students…"_

Condescending, maybe, but it seemed he was right. And maybe they'd learned a few things on the fly, too. Their dynamic (one of Draco's favourite buzz words) developed throughout the week. They worked well together, taking cues from one other to answer student questions or press for more detail.

Sure, it had only been eight days of actual teaching, but Harry was already feeling good, feeling _great_ , about what this term would hold for him.

He could see the value of Malfoy's plans now. He'd always acknowledged the potential, but to actually see it in action… To see the students faces change as they realised that it was largely happenstance that stood between them and ruin… to see them realise that – despite all media saying otherwise – Harry was no more a hero than any other person who had stood up against Voldemort… it was something glorious. It was powerful.

And it was all down to Draco.

Maybe Harry was having a hero-worship incident of his own, because the last person he remembered feeling such a deep level of respect for was Hermione, when they were searching for horcruxes.

It was ridiculous, really. He and Malfoy were peers, colleagues, they were the same age… but there was this odd kind of blistering pride that solidified in Harry's chest every time they stood up in front of the class together, or whenever Draco gave McGonagall a progress report, or whenever Neville shook his head in mock admonishment and complained about how he couldn't get any Herbology teaching done when all his students wanted to do was ask questions about their DADA teachers…

Maybe it was just gratitude. For the first time in years, Harry felt like he was actually doing something meaningful, something that mattered… perhaps the fierce esteem that he held for his once-nemesis was just simple relief for having been dragged out of his rut.

Whatever it was, Harry wasn't thinking about it too much today. He'd done enough thinking for now. It was a beautiful sunny Saturday, and he had plans. He was going to floo to Ron and Hermione's that evening for dinner, but this morning…

He thumped his fist heavily against Draco's door, keeping an ear cocked for any rustling inside. After a few seconds of silence, he thumped again. Dum-dum-da-da-dum. This time there was movement, the padding of feet… and the door swung open.

Good lord.

Draco looked… young. In those same soft-looking black pants that showed his ankles, but paired with a slightly-too-large white t shirt, he seemed easily a decade younger than his 36 years. His hair was loose, and not as long as Harry had imagined, falling over his face, even as he reached to push it back. With his right hand, as his left was jammed hard into his pocket, pressing the inside of his forearm hard against his shirt to hide what remained of his Dark Mark. He looked… accidental.

"Potter." He grumbled. "This better be an emergency." But his sharp eyes had already assessed Harry's flying leathers, and the broomstick, and had narrowed warily.

"Fraid not, sorry." Harry grinned, holding up his free hand to showcase his shiny new practice snitch. "Fancy a blat around the pitch?"

A slight sneer started to pinch Draco's lip up, but he paused, sighed. "You're relentless, aren't you?" He stepped back from the door, motioning for Harry to come inside while Harry wondered what on earth he meant by relentless. "I'm just having a coffee, want one?"

Harry propped his broom up against the wall while Draco trudged over to pull a sweatshirt off the back of the over-stuffed sofa that hunkered in the middle of the room.

That white t shirt was the kind of fabric that clung, and when he moved, Harry could see the firm outline of his shoulders, his ribs, defined with sinewy muscle, not the gaunt bone he'd expected. Taut, corded tendons and firm flesh lay close under the exposed skin of his arms. With a vaguely guilty, voyeuristic start, Harry realised how much of Malfoy was usually hidden by those tailored cotton shirts he wore, and his robes. Those clothes were doing him a disservice, only showing his skinny wrists…

No, Draco wasn't scrawny, he was lean, wiry. He had the _perfect_ Seeker build.

Maybe, Harry thought as he watched Draco pull the sweatshirt on – managing to keep his marred arm hidden somehow – _maybe_ Malfoy would actually better at Quidditch than him now…

Maybe was an understatement.

Draco was like a dragonfly. He could zip from one position to another, darting from end to end of the pitch, drop ten metres, zip off again, and turn on the spot, all with tight control. No move he made was excessive, no effort was wasted. It was an awesome thing to watch.

Or it would have been, if Harry hadn't just had his own arse handed to him.

Harry had grown since sixth year. He'd filled out, become thicker with heavy muscle, which wasn't good for a seeker. He was still fast, for his size, still nimble... but nowhere near as fast and nimble as someone as slight as Draco… and Draco was absolutely trouncing him.

"Jesus, Malfoy… where have you been practicing?" Harry yelled as Draco – once again – caught the little weighted practice snitch perfectly in the middle of his outstretched palm.

With a rush of air, his opponent corkscrewed past, a flick of his wrist sending the golden ball hurtling through the air.

Harry dove to grab it, wheeling straight down, tearing as fast as he could to snatch the ball into his hand, just catching a few _whoops_ from the students that had gathered below them to watch. He knew he wasn't as graceful as Malfoy, or as fast, but damn, it felt good to be back on this pitch.

"You've let yourself go to seed, Potter." The breeze stirred up by Draco's broom wafted against Harry's face, and Harry turned, laughing, to say something cutting back, but…

… but the look on Malfoy's face was like a punch to the guts.

He was grinning, _just_ teetering on the edge of laughing. His grey eyes sparkling, and his face flushed. He looked excited, happy, completely unguarded, and Harry's heart fell in to his stomach. Gods, he could imagine – just in that second – what else he could do to bring colour to Draco's cheeks like that.

Draco's smile tilted, challenged. "You'd make quite a good chaser…"

From anyone else, that might have been a compliment.

* * *

"So, what's the git like? Still gittish?" Ron grinned, "He's a git, isn't he?"

Harry laughed, elbowed Ron in the ribs. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but he's actually…" he paused. Actually what? "He's actually not a git… he's gitless, even."

Ron chortled at that. "Damn. I owe 'Mione a dinner now."

"Oh poor you." Harry rolled his eyes. "Did you really want me to be stuck with a twat all term?"

"Spose not…" Ron conceded. "But it'd be nice to know that some things stay the same, y'know?"

Unbidden, the picture of a smiling, flushed Malfoy flew in to Harry's head, and he had to force himself not to shake it out like there was a bee in his hair. "Yeah, I think I get that."

He definitely did get it… because this morning's _development_ was already doing his head in.

All those little moments he'd _noticed_ Malfoy… the moments of grace and poise… from a simple movement of his wrist, to the dignified way he explained his most reprehensible actions to a class of thirty twelve year olds… he'd replayed them all in his head, over and over again, trying to figure out when something had changed.

He wasn't a teenager anymore. He knew that something as simple as a blush wasn't what had tipped him over the edge… it was just what had alerted him to something that was already there, but had snuck up on him.

It was bound to happen – he'd told himself. They got along well, and Draco was obscenely attractive. Not just physically, that wasn't really here nor there, but he was smart, and funny, and – in his own way – very kind. He _was_ pompous and vain, but he was the good stuff, too.

And now he had no idea what to do.

Not that he was having any great identity crisis. He was at least self-aware enough to know that he sat at about a 2 on the Kinsey scale. _Predominantly heterosexual, but more than incidentally homosexual._

Liking men wasn't an issue, not for him, at least… but he knew it would be for others. Which was half the problem.

If he was going to start dating a guy, the media would blow up. He'd had it bad with some of the witches he'd (briefly) dated… and even had a rookie reporter harass a muggle girl he saw once. He could only imagine how intense it would be if he was seeing a _wizard_.

So he just hadn't pursued any of the men he'd fancied over the years. It never seemed like a hardship, as he hadn't dated _anyone_ seriously since Ginny… and besides, most of the guys he'd taken a shine to had ended up straight, and the others were taken. So that had been that.

Though he didn't think Draco had a partner. There had been no indication that anyone but him slept at that apartment. No extra toothbrush in the bathroom, no out-of-place shoes next to the door… Then again, Malfoy was so private that he could easily have a lover that Harry had no idea about.

But did that really matter, when statistically speaking, Draco probably wasn't queer at all? Chances were he was straight, and nothing would eventuate between them. Which in all reality, was probably the best outcome. Better for Harry to swoon over a little infatuation for a while than to end up embroiled in some angsty affair that could never really go anywhere.

Besides… wasn't there some rule about sleeping with your workmates?

"So, uh…" Ron glanced at the doorway, making sure Hermione was still out of earshot. "I did hear something, 'bout Ferret Face…"

Uh oh, that didn't look good. Ron's expression was at once gossipy, and guilty. "You read his file, didn't you?" Harry sighed, slouching back into their squashy sofa.

His eyes widened, wounded. "Nah, course not." He cleared his throat. "Gormley did, though."

"Ron!"

"What? I didn't _ask_ him too, he's just nosey."

"Ugh." Harry threw his hands up. "Alright then, out with it."

Ron's eyes flicked back to the door, and he lowered his voice to a stage whisper. "He's bent."

Harry blinked. "What?"

Ron shrugged, a smile tugging up his freckled cheek. "He prefers the company of other men."

No. No, that didn't fit in with the plans that Harry had made only moments ago… "You can't call people _bent_ , Ron." He said stupidly, his mind suddenly sluggish as he cast around, trying to regain the equilibrium he'd only just cobbled together.

"Sorry. But did you know? Has he _said_ anything?"

Harry shook his head, in what he hoped was an unconcerned kinda way. "I didn't have a clue…" he frowned. "Since when do we put peoples' sexual preferences in their files, anyway?"

Ron chuckled. "C'mon, mate. You know how much ends up in there. It's not like he's got _homo_ stamped over his picture or anything, but in his interviews, when they ask about any potential risks to the Statute of Secrecy, he always names blokes."

"Oh." The blokes had names. Why did that make it seem so much more real? If Draco had been, uh, involved, with blokes – who had names – then they also had hands, hair, skin, mouths. If they had names, then they'd also probably made that pale skin flush with heat, curled their fingers into that white-blonde hair…

Whoa, no, that was not a train of thought Harry wanted to follow, not when Hermione would walk in at any second, take one look at his face, and ask what was wrong.

"You right, mate? Y'look stricken." Ron was grinning. "I mean, it's weird, right? But it's _Malfoy_. Pretty sure you're the _last_ person he'd ever try it on with, so you're probably safe."

Harry _wanted_ to pick apart Ron's use of the word _safe_ , to point out that the way in which Ron treated Draco's sexuality like a scandalous piece of gossip, and how he assumed that Harry was _scared_ of a gay man, was – _at_ _the very best_ – insensitive. He did want to, and he knew he'd kick himself later for letting it slide…

But Ron's tactless, crass joke had touched a nerve.

 _You're the last person he'd ever try it on with._

He was probably right. Even if Draco was gay _and_ single, there was pretty much no chance that he'd ever want Harry. It wasn't like Harry could blame the _history_ they had together, either, though that was definitely an issue…

Draco was so clearly more adult than Harry. He was smarter, wittier, more refined. He made Harry look like a scruffy school kid. Draco dating Harry would be as ludicrous as McGonagall shacking up with Trelawney. Unthinkable, no matter how well they got along as friends.

No – Harry realised with a strange sigh of relief and frustration – it would never happen. Draco was just way out of his league.


	7. Chapter 7

Harry managed OK.

He wasn't a child, he could spend almost all day, every day, in close proximity to Draco, and not turn into a complete idiot. He didn't start stammering if their fingers touched when passing papers to each other. He didn't blush if their shoulders bumped, or their knees brushed… he _noticed_ – he wanted to stroke his thumb across Draco's knuckles, or shift to press their thighs together – but he didn't stop functioning.

It probably helped that Malfoy did nothing to indicate that he was interested in Harry. None of those touches lingered, there were no heavy silences that carried on for just a breath too long. Those grey eyes never seemed to be waiting for anything other than a laugh or a comeback, even when Harry was worried that his own gaze was pleading for something more.

No, he knew that _more_ wasn't going to happen. It had been weeks since that morning on the Quidditch pitch, and _nothing_ had happened. So he just carried on as normal, and kept his fantasies to himself.

"Learned Helplessness."

Draco was standing at the front of the class, gesturing at the words written on the blackboard. "Does anyone want to hazard a guess at what it might mean?"

He waited, as they always waited, and eventually hands rose into the air.

"Glen?"

"Yeah. Is it like, when things are really bad, and nothing you do seems to help, so you just lose hope and stop trying?"

"Very concise and accurate definition, well done." Draco beamed, and Glen (short for Glenda) beamed right back. "Essentially, when one is stopped from making decisions, one eventually becomes incapable of making decisions at all… including the decisions that could remove them from bad situations. The more agency one has over ones life, the more productive they are, and the less agency one has over ones life, the less productive they are, to the point where they become helpless."

A hand shot up. "Yes, Gerard?"

"So I read this thing once that said muggles used to train elephants by chaining them up to HUGE stakes when they were just babies. The elephants would fight and fight, but not be able to move… so when they were grown-up elephants, they could be staked with just pegs, and they wouldn't even try to pull them out, even though they totally could if they wanted to…"

"Sounds about right." Malfoy muttered, a dark look on his face. Harry knew by now that – despite his teenaged posturing that indicated otherwise – Draco was really quite fond of animals.

"So then, there was a circus that set fire… and none of the elephants escaped, they just stood there and got burned to death, cos they wouldn't move…"

Outraged gasps and exclamations ran through the class.

"That is possibly the most disturbing, but most accurate example of the phenomenon that I have had the displeasure of listening to." Draco said softly. "Yes, that is _exactly_ Learned Helplessness."

"That's _awful_."

"It is." Draco nodded. "Can anyone suggest any situations where _people_ have become helpless?"

"Domestic violence victims?"

"Homeless people?"

"Hostages?"

"Abused kids?"

Malfoy nodded at all of these examples. "Alright, it's clear we understand the concept. Now, given what we've been talking about, how does Learned Helplessness fit in to the events – as Professor Potter and I have described them – that surrounded the War?"

Harry liked Wednesday afternoons. Double period of seventh years… these kids were good at grappling with more complex concepts, and they were really interested in the work, all discussing and debating, and scribbling down pages of messy notes in the journals Draco had given them. But he did sometimes find them exhausting. He did his best to be open and honest about what he had been through, and how he felt about it… but he'd never really had to do that before, and it was _hard_.

It was hard enough to listen to Draco's stories. Stories about how Voldemort held his family hostage, stories about what he had to endure when the dark wizard was using Malfoy Manor as a headquarters. It was hard to keep himself from grimacing in shame and fury and pity… he could have helped Draco, back then. He could have. Draco was just a scared kid, and Harry had the entire Order to help him, he _could_ have found Malfoy somewhere safe to stay, maybe his mother, too.

More regrets. He had so many of them, and they all seemed louder when he was at Hogwarts. So many people he cared about had died, he couldn't help but wonder who might still be alive if he had just been _better_ than he was. He was held up as the saviour of the wizarding world… but he could have done more. So much more.

Which, he supposed, was what this course was about. Teaching these kids how to put aside petty differences and unite in the face of adversity. If they had been taught this twenty years ago, who knows how things would have turned out.

"Whiskey?" Draco asked as soon as Harry had shut the door behind him.

Harry ducked to dodge Malfoy's robes as they swung through the air to hang themselves on the coat rack. "You too, huh?" He started shrugging off his own robes, glad to be free of them. "That was a tough one."

"I'll assume you want the drink, then." Draco didn't look at him, just busied himself with un-stopping the bottle.

"Yeah, thanks." Unwatched, Harry was free to stare, to marvel at how fine the short hairs at the back of Draco's neck were, to imagine how soft they'd feel against his palm, how warm the skin beneath his collar would be…

"Cheers." Draco pushed the glass into Harry's hand, his face a stubborn mask of self-assured calm, but Harry knew better. Draco didn't usually drink until after dinner. Throwing back a whiskey the moment that class ended was… unusual. He was flustered, even if he didn't look it.

"Cheers." Harry returned, and tipped his head back to swallow the drink in one gulp. He hissed as the scotch burned his throat. It was cold, colder than he'd been expecting. Draco must have charmed it.

"That's better." Draco's voice was a little hoarse, presumably from the whiskey that he'd just tipped down his throat. "Another?"

"Thanks."

This one they didn't throw back, but sipped, like civilised people. Standing in Malfoy's rooms, not speaking. The air was thick, somehow, with something unsaid. Harry could feel it like he could feel magic sometimes, prickling at his skin. It wasn't even that Draco was looking at him funny, his eyes were just regarding him in the same cool, detached way they always did.

But something was definitely off. Usually, after class, they settled down on that hunkering sofa or at the large desk, and planned lessons for the next day, going over what they could improve on, or what needed to be elucidated further. They never just stood there, silent, drinking single malt.

"I thought the story about you burying Dobby was media hype." Malfoy said eventually. "I didn't realise it was true."

Harry shrugged, instantly regretting the childish gesture. "Yeah, I… he deserved a proper burial." Awkward shame rose in him stomach again. Dobby had died to save his life… _and_ Dobby had been Malfoy's elf, before Harry had tricked Lucius into freeing him. This could end up being a painful conversation.

But Draco just nodded. A short, curt motion of agreement. "Could you find the grave, if you had to?"

"Of course. It's by Bill and Fleur's place… I visit every year."

No emotion registered on his face, but the air felt tighter, the prickles on Harrys skin grew sharper. "Could you take me?"

"Now?" Harry managed to stop himself from gasping, but not from his eyebrows shooting up. What was going on?

"If you could. I think I need to get out of the castle for a bit."

"Yeah, sure." Harry nodded. He wasn't about to start questioning _why_ , this was already too weird. "Um, it's at the seaside, so I'll need to put on something less… teacher-y. Meet you at the front doors in ten?"

Draco did that little nod again and tipped his glass back. "In ten." He agreed, hoarse again.

They didn't talk as they crossed the grounds. They waved to Hagrid when the groundkeeper called out hello… but didn't stop to chat. The grounds seemed huge, the walk impossibly long, when they were stalking across them in silence.

It was all very odd.

"You OK to side-along?" Harry asked, holding out his arm when they passed the point of the Hogwarts protection spells.

Another curt nod, and Draco reached out to wrap his fingers around Harry's arm, just below his elbow. Harry forced himself not to look. Either at where he could feel the heat from Draco's palm through his sweatshirt… or at Draco's face. Instead, he closed his eyes, turned on the spot, and thought about the cliffs above Shell Cottage.

 _Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf._

Harry had been staring at the words so long that they didn't make sense any more.

The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the grave. The cottage's windows were dark, and Harry was relieved when he figured that Bill and family must be out. He didn't feel like explaining anything to anyone. What could he say, anyway?

' _Oh, we're just going to sit here in silence for an hour, getting irresponsibly drunk next to Dobby's grave because Malfoy's in a mood.'_ Or, at least, Harry was going to be drunk when he stood up, Draco had better alcohol tolerance than he did.

"Thank you, for this."

Harry wasn't sure he'd heard it at first, with the wind and the crash of the ocean in his ears. But when he turned to find grey eyes trained on his, he knew he hadn't imagined it.

"It's good to get out of there sometimes." He mumbled, unsure what to say.

"Yes." Draco agreed. "But I meant… this." He gestured to the pale white headstone, the bright, hardy little flowers that grew from the earth, the sun-faded socks that were laid on the grave. "Dobby was… good."

"He was."

"My father treated him awfully, you know."

Harry didn't know where to look, so he kept his eyes trained on the headstone, staring at those words until they blurred. "He mentioned." He muttered, recalling half-forgotten memories of bandages wrapped around Dobby's thin, burned hands…

"Mother wasn't much better, I suppose, but Father… they were cruel to all of the House Elves, but Dobby received a particularly nasty brand of viciousness."

"Why?" Harry asked before he could stop himself. He wasn't sure he actually wanted to hear all of this. Part of him was morbidly curious, but another part wanted to push Draco back on the sandy grass and tell him to think of happier things, to make happier memories.

"Habit." There was a note of inevitability in Draco's voice, acknowledging the offhand way in which abuse was handled in the Malfoy manor… not too different to living at the Dursleys, perhaps. "He was charged with my care when I was an infant. When I became attached to him, my parents took the opportunity to use him as my whipping boy. By the time I was six or seven, it had become normal to… hurt him."

"Your whipping boy…" Harry parroted, trying to wrap his head around what he was being told. His fingers clutched at the near-empty glass in his hands. What kind of sick, twisted…

"It wouldn't do for the only Malfoy heir to be disciplined, raising a hand to ones child is unseemly. A house elf, on the other hand…" There was the _slightest_ hint of venom in his words. Draco cared, he _actually_ cared about Dobby.

How had Harry never known that? Why had Dobby never said anything?

"I wasn't kind to him either, mind you." Draco's admission was soft. "It never even occurred to me that I could be… but I didn't hurt him." He sniffed. "He was a good teacher. Had me doing wandless domestic spells by the time I was seven or so."

"He, what?" Harry turned to watch the small smile that played on Draco's thin lips. " _Wandless_ magic? At _seven_?"

The smile ticked up a bit, turning into that smirk that Harry knew so well. "Cleaning, warming and the like." He was musing, his eyes somewhere far away. "My silencing charm was one of the first he taught me. A good house elf is neither seen nor heard…"

"Your parents? I mean, you're not supposed to use magic that young."

"They weren't pleased that I was learning such _common_ spells, but it kept me out of trouble, and it was a good foundation for what we learned at Hogwarts. My father never was one for worrying about things like _the law_."

"Still, wandless, that's, that's _really_ impressive." Harry breathed.

"Yes, well… I am quite good at magic, really." Draco sniffed, "Though I'm not telling you this to brag."

"Why _are_ you telling me?" Yep, Harry was definitely drunk. _Why_ would he ask such an awkward, prying question? _Why_?

Draco drained his glass before he answered.

"Today's lesson, it was difficult…" He was pouring another drink, and – stupidly – Harry let him take the glass from his hand, closing his eyes against the warmth that bloomed on his skin when Draco's fingers brushed his. "I had always thought that the tales about your relationship with Dobby were grossly exaggerated, and now that it's clear they're not…" He trailed off, pushed the full glass against the back of Harry's hand.

"You saw him, when he rescued us." Harry said softly. "He almost killed Bellatrix."

"Yes." He didn't offer anything more, just sipped at his scotch and stared at the grave.

Harry tried to imagine what that would have been like. If Harry had been in Draco's position, he'd feel… well, guilty, definitely. Probably more guilty that he already did, and the remorse Harry felt over Dobby's death made it hard to breathe sometimes… guilty, and probably jealous. Dobby hadn't raised Harry, but he had saved Harry's life, and left Draco in the hands of the Death Eaters…

More guilt churned in Harry's stomach as he realised what exactly had happened. What had seemed to Harry and others like absolute bravery, going back to the Malfoy mansion to rescue Harry and the others, must have seemed like the ultimate betrayal to Draco, especially when he was left behind.

"What happened to you, after we escaped?" Another question he didn't really want to hear the answer too. He knew it wouldn't be good.

It took a long second for Draco to reply. Harry watched as Draco raised his long fingers, absent-mindedly grazing his fingertips in a line across his chest.

"I was made an example of." His grey eyes came suddenly into focus, and he turned his head to meet Harry's gaze. "He unstitched me."

Oh. Oh no. Harry wanted to turn away, but Draco's challenging gaze wouldn't let him.

He'd been unstitched. Something Harry had only seen the effects of once, and it was awful, even after the victim had been smothered in dittany.

Every cut, every abrasion Draco had ever sustained… the Septum Sempra scars, childhood grazed knees, even his navel… any time his skin had been broken, no matter how insignificant, _every_ cut would have been opened, slowly, from the smallest to the largest. Immensely painful, potentially fatal, it was pure torture. It was less painful than Cruciatus, but then, Cruciatus had its downfalls. Being unstitched was far less likely to drive the victim mad, the sufferer was still able to talk while being tortured, and it was visually… disturbing. Harry didn't need to be an auror to know that the choice of curse was to torture Lucius and Narcissa, just as much Draco.

And Harry had just left him there.

"I'm so sorry." He breathed, and even as pity and shame clawed at his throat, that hard, fierce _pride_ he had in Malfoy pressed up against his sternum. How was Draco so _strong_ , so stoic? How was he so driven?

"Don't be." Draco tilted his head slightly, but his fingers were restless on the edge of his glass. "He forced my parents to watch. If he hadn't, my mother likely wouldn't have been scared enough to lie for you in the Forbidden Forest." That smirk turned hard, he raised his glass in a mock toast. "We all did our bit for the war."

"You didn't deserve that." Harry said, knowing exactly how meaningless his words were. Draco _hadn't_ deserved that… but it had happened nonetheless.

"Didn't I?" Draco shrugged. "Perhaps not." He gestured to the small grave in front of them. "But then, Dobby didn't deserve to die. Neither did Fred Weasley, or the Creevey boy. Nor my cousin and her husband. I'm at least alive, whether I deserve to be or not."

Malfoy didn't need to explain for Harry to understand. If there was one thing Harry was an expert in, it was guilt.

He knew that feeling, like the war was all just a numbers game, and the fact that he had lived, meant that someone else had died in his stead. It was irrational, unreasonable, but it persisted. He'd lived with the unrelenting, stomach-churning _guilt_ for years, and he knew that there were no words that could soothe that pain, no logic that could ease it.

So he stayed quiet, offered Draco no trite platitudes. He just sat there, swirling his whiskey around his glass, too nauseated to drink any more. He leaned his arm gently against Malfoys, and watched the cold night engulf Dobby's lonely little grave.


	8. Chapter 8

"You weren't absolutely terrible today, Potter." Draco strolled off the pitch, his broom slung casually over his shoulder.

Harry fell in step beside him, glad for the teasing distraction from how _good_ Draco looked in his flying leathers. Back in the 90s, the uniform they wore had been loose, almost to the point of baggy. But now, Draco was strapped tight into garments that – while covering him from ankle to wrist – showed off the curves and planes of his lean form in a way that was almost indecent… at least that's how it felt to Harry, as he tried to reign in the insistent desires of his body.

Then, to add insult to injury, Draco was also always disgustingly _happy_ on these Saturday morning flying jaunts. That was what really did Harry in, Draco's big smiles, and the blush high on his sharp cheekbones. It made him grateful for the standing Saturday afternoon visit that he made to the Glen. He needed an excuse to put some physical distance between him and Malfoy after these Quidditch bouts, or he was afraid he'd do something very, very stupid. Like offer to help Draco out of his leathers.

Now there was a thought…

– _ahem_ – he cleared his throat, pushing those useless thoughts aside so he could speak. "Always did like a challenge." He wasn't really trying to tease back. There was no point, when it was so obvious that Draco was now the stronger seeker.

"That's an understatement." Malfoy snorted, glancing back to shoot Harry one of his raised-eyebrow looks, making Harry's stomach coil into an uncomfortable knot.

 _Kiss him_. His body demanded.

" _HARRY!"_ Harry turned at the high, familiar voice that was calling his name. _"Harry wait!"_ A little figure was hurrying towards them across the grass. Harry stopped and waited for it to catch up, noting with a weird kind of pleasure that Draco had stopped too, standing just behind him.

"Morning Rose." Harry grinned. "Going for a fly?"

She shook her head. "Nah, a bunch of us are going with Neville to find some kind of mushroom for Madam Pomfrey."

"Forbidden Forest?" Harry had to hold back a laugh. Rose wasn't overly enthused with Herbology (even if she did love Neville), giving up her Saturday morning to do extra-curricular work must mean there was something else in it for her… or she'd been given a detention.

She nodded happily. "Yeah, but Hagrid's coming with us, and Beast, so we'll be fine." Clever girl, pre-empting the _be careful_ talk… and if Harry wasn't mistaken, she put a _slight_ emphasis on the name of Hagrid's dog. Fang had been dead for years now, but Beast was definitely cast from the same mould, and Rose knew all about how Draco had chickened out in the forest back in their first year. Was she teasing Malfoy? The little smirk on her face told him she was. Good girl.

" _Anyway,"_ she puffed, still smirking, "Have you seen this yet?" She waved a copy of _Witch Weekly_ under his nose.

Harry plucked the magazine from her fingers. On the cover was a photo of some witch-lit author, preening with what looked suspiciously like a Quick Notes Quill. Written down the side of the simpering woman's face was the headline _Hogwarts Hotties – Meet the teachers you wish you'd had at school._

He handed the magazine to Draco without a word, biting his tongue to keep from laughing, especially when he heard Malfoy's snort of disgust.

"Uh, thanks, I think." He said to Rose. "Is it as bad as it looks?"

She shrugged, distracted by a knot of people who were forming outside the glasshouses in the distance. "Not really. You've got your shirts on in all of the pics, at least."

"Thank Merlin." Draco glowered behind him.

"Look, I stole that off Jess." Rose grinned again. "So if you wanna keep it, you'll have to get your own."

"I don't keep clippings, Rose."

"Suuuure." She chuckled, knowing she was getting under his skin. Ron had insisted for years that Harry kept a big scrapbook of all of his newspaper and magazine clippings. It was a joke that had grown old a long time ago.

"Anyway. Mum's got a package for you to bring back for me, so I'll get the mag off you then. Seeya Harry, Malfoy." She wasn't even looking at them as she said goodbye, moving to run up the hill to where she was meeting her friends.

Draco grumbled, the magazine clutched in his fist, the picture of the author peered out from around his hand. " _Professor_ Malfoy."

* * *

 _What witch wouldn't want to be the top in this class?_

 _Unless you've been living under a rock, you'll know that our favourite wizarding hero, Harry Potter, has joined forces with his ex-Death Eater enemy, Draco Malfoy, to become the newest Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers at Hogwarts._

 _What you might not know, is that the two are now inseparable friends, and with their fresh new take on DADA, and their candid explanations of the roles they played in the Wizarding War, they have become the most popular teachers since their own time at Hogwarts._

" _They're really cool. Like, I thought Professor Malfoy was going to be a real [tyrant], y'know? But, like, he's real chill. He's probably more chill than Potter, even. We can ask them anything, and they'll tell us about it. Even told us about the time Potter almost killed Malfoy when they were at school." A current student told us about his favourite teachers. "It's cool how they're friends, too. I mean, they used to hate each other, right? But now, they're like, always talking and stuff… all the teachers seem to like [Malfoy], but you pretty much never see him and Harry apart."_

 _Though all of the students we spoke to had only good things to say about the duo, not all of the praise was just for their personalities._

" _He's_ so _good looking." A fifth-year girl told our reporter. "Mr Potter is really nice and all, but Professor Malfoy is just so handsome."_

 _Her friend felt the opposite. "We always fight about this. Malfoy's handsome, but Potter looks like he rescues kittens from burning buildings or something. He's, like, so buff. You should see them playing Quidditch. Potter looks sooo good in his leathers."_

" _Malfoy's a better seeker though."_

 _It seems that even Draco's alleged superior skill on the pitch can't put a damper on his new friendship with the man who was once the Gryffindor Quidditch darling._

" _It's all Draco." Potter said recently. "Any auror could do what I do in that class, teaching defensive spells and [stuff]. But what Draco's doing is really going to make a difference, in the long term… It's really exciting to watch. He's a really good teacher."_

 _While we're sure that Harry is being as modest as ever, it's refreshing to see that these two wizards could put their pasts behind them for the benefit of our next generation (continues on page 43)_

The article (such as it was) was punctuated by photographs. Older images of them both, back from the aftermath of the war, when Harry was still scrawny and Malfoy still looked ill, and pictures from just the week prior, when they'd met with Neville, Luna and Hagrid over at the Three Broomsticks for a couple of drinks.

He liked the recent pictures.

Like most commercial images, they just looped. A moment in time captured on thin, shiny paper. The five of them crowded around a table, all smiling, talking. In his favourite one, Draco and Harry were sitting elbow to elbow, and during the few seconds the picture had captured, they looked… close. Draco said something, turning his sly grey eyes to Harry as Harry turned to reply to him, and they smiled at each other. It was a small interaction, clearly one of Malfoy's knowing jokes that made Harry feel like he was in on some secret… but he hadn't realised how it _looked_.

Or maybe it was just him, reading more into every interaction because he so desperately wanted there to be more to read.

"Well, this reaches a whole new level of humiliating." Draco sighed, pushing the magazine away.

Harry chuckled, sure that he was blushing. "It's not that bad. We could have been topless."

Draco glared. "I don't _do_ topless." He grumbled. Harry didn't doubt it. He couldn't imagine Draco going swimming, which was how The Daily Prophet had nabbed shirtless pictures of Harry. "Don't you find this… uncomfortable?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure, but I'm kind of used to it. It has to be better than being vilified, right?"

Malfoy's grimace was one Harry hadn't seen before. Was he actually upset by this silly little fluff article?

"I'm not comfortable with students talking about me like that." His nostrils flared when he finally spoke. "It's inappropriate."

"You haven't noticed some of the, uh… the looks you get? Especially from the Slytherin girls?"

"No." His voice was flat.

Harry just shrugged. What could he say? "You're the behavioural expert, Draco. Surely it's normal for kids to idolise some of their teachers?" He smirked, "Even 'Mione had a crush on Lockhart, back in second year."

"Ugh." Draco sneered, but his mouth did curl up a little. "Don't bring Granger into this, we both know her taste in men is questionable."

Harry growled. "Those are my best friends you're talking about."

"Yes, well… I can't say I think much of your taste either." His smirk was back. Good.

"And after I said all those nice things about you." Harry shook his head in mock despair, reaching over to tap at the open magazine. "If my taste is so untrustworthy, maybe you're not the amazing teacher I thought you were…" He teased.

Draco frowned. "You actually said that?"

"It's a bit edited I think, but yeah." Harry sulked. "Don't sound so surprised. It's not like I don't get that you're the brains behind the operation."

"You gave an interview?"

"Uh…" Harry shook his head. "No. I was talking to Shirley. The reporter must have been at the bar or something. You know how sneaky these reporters can be."

"I suppose I do." He must have been thinking about Rita Skeeter, and all of the trouble she'd caused back in fourth year… with his help, of course. "Thank you."

Well, that was unexpected. "What for?"

"For taking this seriously." Draco's gaze was, as always, unwavering. "You've been far more…" he paused, searching for the right word to use, "willing, than I assumed you'd be. We work well together." A smile softened his lips, made Harry's stomach flip.

"Yeah, we make a pretty good team."

* * *

"You don't miss it?"

Harry and Hermione were stretched out on her largest sofa, her bare feet in his lap as he rubbed them, waiting for Ron to get back from a call-out about a cursed record player.

He shook his head. "Not even slightly. But what's to miss? Paperwork? I haven't been in the field for years."

"I suppose that's true." 'Mione let her head tip back against the armrest. "So, what now? Try to get a teaching job?"

"No idea." He pressed the pad of his thumb into the ball of her foot, making her toes twitch a little. "Not much call for teachers really… and I'm not that keen on the traditional curriculum."

Hermione snorted. "Of course you're not. Too much reading." She sighed. "Though you're right in a way. The academic approach to magical education doesn't suit everyone."

"Huh. Never thought I'd hear you say that." He teased.

"I'm serious. Students like Fred and George, Neville, even you… you just approach magic differently to people like me. You're more… intuitive."

"Intuitive." Harry parroted. "You know, Draco was doing wandless magic at seven?"

"What?" Her head jerked up, eyes wide.

"Dobby taught him." He said simply, knowing that any mention of their favourite house elf would dampen any misgivings she had about underage magic.

Her face got all soft. "You finally talked about that?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Last week. I took him to see the grave."

Her hand rose to her chest. "Oh… that's really lovely of you, Harry." Her smile was all soppy, damn her. "I'm so glad you're working things out between you."

"You know him better than you let on, don't you, 'Mione?"

It was her turn to smirk, looking eerily like her daughter. "I did wonder how long it would take you to figure it out." She nodded. "We became quite close in eighth year. We still owl occasionally."

Huh. He'd wondered over the years if that had been the case, but he'd never asked. He supposed he'd never wanted to hear the answer. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Draco asked me not to." She shrugged, reached over to grab her wine glass off the coffee table.

"Why not?"

"Because you would have both hated me for it." Her voice was matter of fact, and she was probably right in a way, but it still hurt.

"I testified for him… I got his family out of Azkaban…" He protested weakly. "I wouldn't have hated you…"

She gave Harry the same indulgent smile she gave her kids when they were being ridiculous. "You did, and he's thankful… but you never wanted him in your life. Being my friend would have been too close to home for you, I think."

He groaned, trained his eyes on where he was massaging her heel. "I'm a piece of shit."

She laughed. "You weren't much better than a child, dealing with the war the best you could. Draco understood, so did I."

Harry didn't know what to say. He knew she was right, but it still sucked. Draco had – arguably – been more cruel to Hermione than he had to anyone, but she'd forgiven him so long ago…

"I'm proud of you, Harry." Her voice was soft. "Really. I think this has been really good for you."

"Can I ask…" He started, but his voice dried up before he could finish question. If this conversation went the way he was planning it would, there would be no taking it back.

"Go on." She urged.

He swallowed. "Is Draco gay?"

She was silent for a second, her voice a little harder when she answered. "That's not a fair question to ask me, Harry."

He nodded, her response telling him everything he wanted to know. "I know, I'm sorry."

"I hope it doesn't change your opinion of him."

"No." His voice was low, but vehement. His heart was thudding in his chest. "I just…" He trailed off, hoping that the desperate look in his eyes was enough to tell her what he wanted to say.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"And you haven't told him." That wasn't a question. She knew him too well.

"No."

"Well, I'm sure you know what I'm going to say."

"Yeah."

"But you still won't talk to him."

"Prob'ly not."

She sighed, letting her head fall back again. "You're your own worst enemy at times."

"I know."


	9. Chapter 9

He shouldn't have told Hermione.

It was a mistake, putting his stupid crush out into the world like that. Because in the days since he'd confirmed it, made it concrete, it had had taken on a life of its own. It had grown from something almost fun, to something almost painful.

Now that he'd acknowledged that he _felt_ something for Malfoy, all of the little things he'd noticed about the man were now _things_. Things he found attractive, that mattered. His _wrists_ , for Merlin's sake. Harry was attracted to Draco's _wrists_. He found them mesmerising, how Draco gestured with his long hands, pivoting from thin wrists, the bones pronounced, tendons visible, veins showing blue through his thin skin…

He really shouldn't have told Hermione.

Had he forgotten how much she liked to _meddle_?

* * *

 _Dearest Draco_

 _I'm not going to write you a proper letter, because I'd rather catch up with you in person._

 _You know that you're welcome to visit at any time, but it seems you aren't willing to impose on our hospitality uninvited. So consider this a formal invitation. Harry comes for lunch on the weekends, join him this Saturday. It would be lovely to see you._

 _Yours,_

 _Hermione_

* * *

After Draco showed him the letter, and asked if he'd mind if he tagged along, Harry didn't know whether to kill Hermione, or kiss her. Though his first instinct was for the former.

* * *

 _Hermione._

 _What do you think you're playing at?_

 _Harry._

* * *

The reply owl was tapping on the window that Evening.

* * *

 _Harry._

 _If you're talking about Draco coming over this weekend, it's perfectly normal for people to invite their friends over for lunch._

 _Don't get paranoid._

 _Hermione._

* * *

 _NINNY_

 _What if I decide not to go?_

 _Harry._

* * *

 _Potty._

 _Then I'd think you were an idiot, and it would put Draco in an awkward situation. Don't be petty. I didn't think I'd have to ask your permission to invite one of_ _our_ _friends to visit._

 _Hermione Granger… and don't you forget it._

* * *

 _Hermione Jean Granger._

 _I'll be there._

 _Harry James Potter._

* * *

 _Harry._

 _Good. I'll see you tomorrow. Molly's sent some of her jam tarts for you._

 _Hermione.  
XXX_

* * *

 _Hermione._

 _Do you really think I should tell him?_

 _Harry._

* * *

 _Harry._

 _Yes I do._

 _I won't say anything though, that's up to you._

 _Whatever you're worried about with Draco, you don't need to be worried about us. You know we'll always support you, even if you start dating a Malfoy._

 _Love,  
Hermione._

* * *

Harry was woken by Ron's grumpy-looking owl first thing in the morning. He did offer it a ride home, but it just nipped his finger and flew off with a derisive hoot.

He read that letter countless times that morning. Over and over while he lay in bed, then while he was getting into his Quidditch gear. It ran through his mind as he tried not to stare too hard at Malfoy, once again completely trouncing him on the pitch. Should he say something? Should he tell him? Even though he was sure he'd get rejected, maybe it would help with this constant _want_. Maybe he could actually get over the guy if he just put everything out on the table, so to speak.

He read it again before he had a shower, and after. He read it while he decided what to wear, after he tried to tame his unruly hair into something less scruffy than normal.

Maybe he should. Just tell him. Just get it over with… it would be better, surely, than doing something really stupid in the heat of the moment sometime.

He still wasn't sure though, when he wandered down the hall to collect Malfoy from his rooms. Butterflies were squirming in his stomach. It felt like a date… it was definitely _not_ a date, but it felt like one.

"Potter. You're on time." Draco was just shrugging on his jacket as he opened the door, smiling his lop-sided smirk.

Nope. Harry couldn't do it. Just looking at the guy, he knew it was impossible. Draco was immaculate. Harry just couldn't imagine opening his mouth and saying any of the preposterous, clumsy, artless things he'd have to say. It wouldn't be right. Draco didn't deserve to be subjected to Harrys awkward stammering, he deserved… more. He deserved someone his equal, not a stupid kid.

"Is that a bad thing?"

"Merely unexpected." There was an odd kind of sparkle in his grey eyes, almost like he was excited. "Shall we?"

The walk to Hogsmeade was… nice. If Harry ignored his sweating palms and inexplicably violent nerves. They bumped in to Rose, who made Harry promise to bring her back some jam tarts, and picked up a parcel from Hagrid to drop off at the Three Broomsticks. They chatted about nothing as they wandered to the village, talked a little bit about work, but not too much… it was _normal_.

"Ohhh, don't you look _good_ all dressed up?" Shirley – Madam Rosmerta's successor – craned over the bar, beaming.

"I, uh…" Harry pushed a hand through his hair, embarrassed. He hadn't _really_ dressed up, just put on nicer jeans and jumper than usual.

"He does, doesn't he? You look lovely today too, Shirley." Draco leaned an elbow on the bar, Hagrid's parcel flat on his palm. "Is that a new dress?"

She _blushed_ , grinned, took the package from him. "Charmer. You look amazing, but then, you always do."

He grinned back. "I know. But it's always nice to hear." Straightening up he turned to Harry, nodded towards the huge fireplace. "We'll be late."

They weren't late.

Harry went through first, greeted immediately by Hugo, who grabbed him in a quick hug and asked if it was true that each first year had been given their own hippogriff.

"They have, but it's only for this year, because of an overstock. You won't be getting one."

"But that's not faaaaaaa-"

"Harry!" Hermione barked. "Don't tease Hu-"

The fire roared, and Draco stepped into the room. His grey eyes cast around, and as soon as they settled on Hermione, he smiled.

He _smiled_. A real, warm smile. A smile that lit up his eyes. "Hermione."

"Draco!" She was in front of him in a second, wrapping him into a hug. It was amazing. Harry had never seen Draco give a hug, never seen him look genuinely affectionate.

His heart did something strange in his chest, like a stutter, a missed beat.

"Is that Malfoy?" Hugo piped up, staring.

Hermione introduced them, fielded some of Hugo's more embarrassing questions, then shooed him through the fireplace. "You'll be late if you don't go _right now_." She shoved the vase of floo powder at him. "And if I hear you've given away a single wheeze…"

Hugo flinched at that, guilty. But before Hermione could get him to turn out his pockets, he'd flung down his powder and escaped into the hearth.

"Cheeky sod." She glared. "Jennifer's mother was around here last week, _furious_ about one of those damned expired nosebleed nougats. Bloody George!" She wailed, then smiled. "Come in! Sit down! Ron's just had to run to The Burrow, a problem with one of Arthur's experiments."

So they sat down, and had tea, and jam tarts, and like the walk, it was _nice_. It was _normal_. Even when Ron came blasting through the fireplace, grumbling about his fathers 'mad' collection of muggle 'crap', it was fine. There was a bit of a blip, an awkward handshake, some stilted questions, but Draco was polite, and charming, and Ron loosened up quick enough.

"They're getting along OK." Hermione assured in a whisper as she and Harry cleared up the dishes.

"Better than I thought they would." Harry agreed, ducking as a platter whizzed over his head to plonk itself in the sink. "Oi, careful!"

"Sorry." She didn't sound sorry at all, but dropped her voice back to her conspiring whisper. "You get along too… do you think-"

"I can't." He cut her off. "He's just… there's no way." He shook his head, terrified Draco would walk in and overhear them. "Can you _ever_ see him going for someone like me?"

Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with you?"

He shrugged. "Nothing really, I suppose. But I'm not in his league."

She opened her mouth, closed it again, then shook her head. "He's just a _person_ , Harry. Like everybody else."

"No he's not like _anyone_ else." Harry was almost pleading, trying to get her to see. "He's _not_." He growled when Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. "He's…" he flicked his eyes to the door, terrified he'd be overheard. "He's just _better_ than me… I look like a five year old next to him."

"Oh Harry." She sighed. "You just look like two people who get along very well and enjoy each other's company. Neither of you is _better_ than the other. Look…" She frowned. "Draco's not perfect by any stretch of the imagination. You _know_ that. You're over thinking it. You're just nervous."

Harry hung his head, knowing logically that she was right, but it didn't change how he felt. He didn't feel good enough. "I dunno, 'Mione. What would I say? And what if he doesn't…" He swallowed. "It would be so humiliating."

"It probably would be." She agreed. "But if you want him, you're going to have to put yourself on the line at some stage." Sidling up to him, she put an arm over his shoulder. "Even if it doesn't turn out the way you want, he's diplomatic. He's not going to laugh in your face, or tell anyone else." She gave him a little squeeze. "And besides… what if it _does_ turn out the way you want it to?"

He thought about that for a second. What if he got what he wanted? What if he got to press his lips to the inside of Draco's wrists, to feel his white blonde hair between his fingers, to have his skinny frame pinned beneath him, making his eyes close with pleasure, making him blush… oh _Merlin._

Was it worth the risk?

"Do come back again, _soon_ , OK?" Hermione was hugging Draco goodbye. Something that Ron was a bit perturbed by, going by the look on his face.

"Of course." Malfoy smiled as he extracted himself from 'Mione's arms. "I'll have to return the favour, once I'm out of Hogwarts."

Harry wondered vaguely if he'd be invited too, or if the friendship they'd struck up would be over as soon as the term was done…

"That was surprisingly pleasant." Draco mused, his boots scuffing through dry leaves on the path from Hogsmeade back to Hogwarts.

"Yeah." Harry agreed. "It was. Even Ron was on form."

Draco smirked. "You were concerned he wouldn't be on his best behaviour?"

"Not _too_ worried. Just, you two weren't exactly friendly, last time you saw each other. Old habits die hard."

"Indeed." He mused, his face raised to catch the autumn afternoon sun. "I never did see what Hermione found so enchanting about him."

Harry bristled at Draco's words, even when they weren't said with any kind of malice, just a gentle, honest musing. "Ron's a really good guy." He managed to mutter without sounding too petulant. "And they went through a lot together."

"Yes, but you're a _good guy_ , and you went through just as much. More, actually." He sniffed. "And there are plenty of people who went through a lot in the war, and are more suited to her, intellectually."

Harry frowned. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were talking about yourself."

"I did consider it." Malfoy's voice was totally nonchalant. "In eighth year."

Instant, illogical jealousy clutched at Harry's ribs. Draco and _Hermione?_ He hated the thought of it, especially because – now that he thought about it – they did kind of suit each other, in a weird, _weird_ way.

"That's… unexpected." Was all he managed to say.

"It made sense. She's beautiful, intelligent, resilient. She's also muggle-born. It would have been a good move for me, politically." He explained.

"It would have been terrible for her." In more ways than one.

"Yes, it would have." Malfoy conceded. "Which was one reason I never pursued the idea."

 _Was another reason because you're gay?_ Harry couldn't imagine what it would be like to live in the closet forever, not if you were properly gay, not if you had to pretend to be attracted to your partner for the rest of your life. Sure, Harry hadn't come out, but then, Harry was perfectly happy with the women he'd had in his life.

Morbid curiosity drove Harry to ask: "Do you think 'Mione would've gone for it?" How different would life be now if she had? She and Ron had been separated for the whole school year, anything could have happened, really.

"I doubt it." Draco's voice still belied no emotion. He could have been talking about the weather, for all he seemed to care. "Though I always thought _you_ would be the one to end up with her. The _Chosen One_ and the _brightest witch of the age_ …" He left the rest unsaid, but it wasn't like Harry hadn't been asked this kind of thing before.

"Yeah, we get that a lot." He sighed. "We were never like that."

"You were very close." Draco urged.

"We still are. I love her. But I've never wanted to shag her." He let an irritated breath out through his nose. "I'm close to Ron, too… but no one seems to think _we_ have some kind of secret affair going on."

Draco laughed at that, _laughed,_ and Harry's stomach flipped. That was only the second laugh he'd gotten out of the man, and it did something dangerous to his insides. Something that made him want to push him up against the nearest tree…

He clenched his jaw, angry at himself, angry at Draco. He felt powerless like this, hiding how he felt, feeling those things in the first place… it just made him feel so small.

"I just assumed you had better taste than that." Draco chuckled, the _slightest_ blush reddening his pale cheeks. Shit.

"Should I consider that a compliment?" How did Draco make him feel so inadequate?

"Only if you care what I think about your… partners." Malfoy hesitated at the end of his sentence, a little glitch that made Harry think that maybe he wasn't as comfortable in this line of conversation as he seemed.

"What _do_ you think of them?"

"I don't know enough about any of them to form an opinion. Though Ginny wasn't awful." Huh, that was almost generous, for Draco.

"Hell of a lot better than that Pansy you used to go around with."

Draco's face stiffened, smoothing into the calm mask he affected most of the time. Harry cringed. He'd obviously said the wrong thing.

"I did not _go around_ with Pansy." He said quietly, his voice inviting no more questions.

But Harry didn't need an invitation. He was already being reckless. "Was there anyone, then? _Is_ there anyone?"

The grey of Draco's eyes had turned to steel. "No one of consequence."

Harry was torn. He didn't want to make Draco angry, didn't want to pressure him… but he felt like this topic might never come up again, and he wanted to know. Wanted to know about the men in Draco's file, the men with names.

"Sore subject, huh?" He tried, his voice low.

"Quite."

Harry didn't say anything, just waited. Just like how he did in class, when he wanted students to gather their courage. Long seconds ticked by, their feet rustling the leaves, birds singing in the trees…

"Dating is difficult when you're one of the most hated figures in the wizarding world." Draco said, eventually.

Oh.

That made sense.

"There's a very _specific_ type of person who's attracted to a death eater." He continued, his voice level, but a sneer pulling at his top lip. "A type of person I'm not interested in. So I date muggles, which never lasts."

Harry nodded, slowly, wary of saying the wrong thing. "Yeah. Muggles are hard." He agreed. Difficult to take a muggle back to a house that had an aged house elf pottering around dusting the furniture.

"The howlers are a problem…"

Despite himself, Harry smiled. "I can imagine." He tried to hold back a chuckle. "How'd you manage them?"

Draco grimaced. "Lock myself in the bathroom."

"With your silencing charm?"

"Hmmm." His mouth pulled up in a rueful smile. "What about the illustrious Harry Potter? Has he deemed any of his many admirers' worthy of his affection?"

Harry chuckled, despite the nerves that were once again churning in his stomach. "Nah. Dating's not that easy when you're one of the most loved figures in the wizarding world, either."

Draco snorted. "Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"No, really." Harry frowned. "I mean, just shagging would be easy." He grimaced, that sounded _awful_. "But I don't see the appeal in that, and _dating_ is impossible. Most people just want to date the figure, the _Chosen One_ from the papers." He shrugged "The people I've met who are genuinely interested in _me_ , are chased off pretty quickly… fame is not fun."

"I didn't realise." Draco said softly. "Seems our situations aren't entirely different."

"No." Harry agreed. "Though I'm sure yours is harder." He bit the inside of his lip. This conversation _hurt_. It hurt to know that Draco was lonely, it hurt to want him _so_ badly, but be too scared to say anything.

"Undoubtedly."

They were getting near to the school grounds now, the path growing wider, the gates looming beyond the trees.

"I used to think that, eventually, my reputation would fade, and I'd meet someone who could look past the mistakes I've made." Draco's sudden, soft confession made Harry's heart ache. "Though I now hold no hope of that. Who's going to be able to put aside the fact that I aligned myself with Voldemort? That I got people killed?"

As always, his voice was even, calm, and it was almost worse than if he'd burst into tears. How long had he been schooling himself against emotion? What other kind of awful, heart-breaking things had he said in that polite, conversational voice? Sympathy curdled with the butterflies in his stomach, and before he could stop himself, Harry answered Draco's rhetorical question.

"Me."


	10. Chapter 10

Time slowed to a crawl as Harry registered what he'd just said.

 _Me? Did I really just say… Me? Shit. Oh Bugger. I did._ He shrank from Draco's stare, his grey eyes narrowed, suspicious.

"I mean…" Harry swallowed, suddenly nauseous. "I… I know all about what you did, but I still want… I'd date you." Ugh, he was going to vomit. He was going to tell Draco he wanted to go out with him, them spew on his expensive boots.

They'd stopped walking. When had that happened? They stood just under a tree, the school gate twenty strides away, dappled sunshine shifting over Draco's startled face.

"I want to." He insisted, raising his hands in a gesture of defeat. Now he'd started, he needed to finish. "I know we have _history_ , I know _you_ have history, but you're not the only one who made mistakes, and you're definitely not the only one who cost people their lives… I _get it_. I get all of it. But I don't care about that. I just…"

He faltered, trying to find the words to say how he felt, while still making sense.

"I like you, Draco, a lot. I like you for who you are _now_. I know that there's probably no chance you'd ever like me back, but if _I_ can see past all of the rumours and history and stuff enough to make an idiot of myself by attempting to ask you out, then obviously someone who'd actually have a chance with you will be able to, too…"

God, did that make any sense _at all_?

Probably not, judging from Draco's tilted smile. Ugh, he was _amused_. Harry's heart sank, he felt about an inch tall. He dropped his gaze to the dirt path, bracing himself for whatever cutting rejection Draco was about to hit him with.

"You're attempting to ask me out?" The question was soft, and it was somehow worse than if he'd just outright laughed.

Harry nodded. " _Attempting_ to, yeah." He still couldn't look up.

"You know we can't." Still soft, Draco's words twisted in Harry's guts.

He nodded again. "Figured that'd be the case."

An irritated _huff_ caught his attention. He flicked his eyes up. Draco was looking at him like he was a question to be solved, a puzzle to be figured out.

"Did Arthur Weasley ever tell you what he said to me, after my trial?"

Huh? "No. I didn't… what did he say?" Harry stammered.

"That your testifying for me had put your future in my hands, and I wasn't to take that responsibility lightly."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco cut him off. "And he was right. Your testimony kept me and my family out of Azkaban, Harry. I don't think you realised it, but you were putting a lot of trust in me. If I had betrayed you, by continuing to practice dark magic, or anti-muggle sentiment, your judgement – and your future as an auror – would have been called into question."

Again, Harry went to speak, and again, Draco kept talking. "I know that it would have been unfair, on many levels, but it's only to be expected." He sighed, shifted his weight. There was _pity_ in his eyes, and something else, something harder. "I owe you my life, Harry, such as it is. I'm not about to jeopardise your standing by dating you… no matter how much I might want to."

Frantic excitement fluttered at the base of Harry's throat. He wasn't sure he'd heard him right… it didn't seem possible… "You want to?"

Draco's gaze didn't waver as he took a step forward. Not too close, not so close that Harry could just lean forward to kiss him, but near enough that he could drop his voice to a low murmur.

"I am somewhat… enamoured with you, Potter." He almost _growled_ his admission, the gentle blush on his cheeks darkening, along with the grey of his eyes. "I always have been."

He always had been?

"But," Draco rushed on. "I _cannot_ act on it, there's too much at stake."

In the space of three seconds, Harry's heart had swollen with hope, then been cruelly deflated.

What Draco was saying made sense, logically. If the papers were to find out they were seeing each other, the backlash would be phenomenal. They would both be hounded, probably even in the muggle world. He doubted he'd lose his job, but it wasn't impossible. Even if he wasn't fired, he could just be edged out, made a laughing stock of… like Moody had been in the years before Harry had met him.

And besides what kind of a relationship could they possibly have? Hiding, sneaking around, trying to keep it a secret. No couple could survive that.

Still…

"What if it's worth the risk?"

"You wouldn't say that if you knew what being hated was really like." Draco said gently. "I can't do that to you… and I can't do it to myself. I have fifteen years of work on the line, I can't just forget about that. I am really very sorry, but I can't." His jaw was tense, the muscle shifting under his fine skin as he clenched his teeth. "I just can't."

So that was all there was to it. Draco couldn't, and Harry had to respect that. Long, painful experience had taught him that there was nothing he could do in this kind of situation. He just had to deal with the crushing disappointment on his own.

He offered a weak smile, felt it falter on his lips. "Well, if you change your mind…"

"I won't." Draco didn't bother trying to smile back, just stared with that level gaze.

Ouch.

"OK." What else could he possibly say? There was nothing more to be said. He didn't know what to do… surely they couldn't just walk back in those gates and act like everything was the same?

"Is it too early to start drinking?" He asked, to no one in particular. He was surprised when Draco answered.

"Not at all." There was a brittle edge to his voice. "In this situation, it seems the only reasonable course of action."

"Good." Harry grumbled. He pushed his hand into his pocket and pulled out the neatly tied package of jam tarts that Hermione had given him. "Pass these on to Rose for me?" He pushed them in to Draco's hands, ignoring his bemused expression. "I've got a date with a bottle."

And he apparated with a _crack_ , opening his eyes to the familiar rooms of Grimmauld Place.

* * *

"No, really Kreach, I'm _fine_." Harry backed into the living room, his palms held up.

 _I look like a hostage_. He mused as he offered Kreacher assurances that _yes_ , he'd eaten, and _yes,_ he'd call when he got hungry. _I feel kind of like a hostage, too._ He added as he shut the door, relieved.

Kreacher was in one of his moods. Taking advantage of Harry's extended absence, he was indulging in a comprehensive spring (autumn?) clean, and didn't want Harry traipsing through and messing up any of his hard work. Like that would be an issue. Harry had interrupted his full clean-out and re-organisation of the linen cupboard. What did Kreacher think he was going to do? Build a tablecloth fort? Though it did beg the question: why on earth did Harry have so much linen? He'd never bought a tablecloth in his life.

He bet Draco had. He was willing to bet that Draco had chosen all matching towels and updated them every year…

 _Ugh_. _No!_

Harry pushed his hands into his hair, slumped over the arm of the sofa until he was lying back on the cushions, his feet dangling, his eyes screwed shut.

He had to _not_ think about him. He had to force himself to _not think_ about to Draco. Or it would drive him mad. There had to be some kind of psychological trick, negative reinforcement or something that he could train himself with… Draco would know.

 _ARGH!_

He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He was such a tool.

Why had he _said_ all of that crap? So much for not subjecting the man to his nervous rambling. Half of what he'd said hadn't made any sense, and the other half was so clumsy, it was a wonder Draco hadn't laughed in his face. And _then_ Draco had been his usual, brilliant, articulate self, and rejected him.

Harry grit his teeth. What the hell was he supposed to do now? _Work_ with him? Every day? Knowing how they felt about each other, but not doing anything about it? It would be torture.

All of those long hours they spent alone in Draco's rooms, on that huge sofa. How could Harry maintain his sanity, wanting what he wanted, and now knowing that Draco wanted it too?

He could quit. Just tell McGonagall that it wasn't working out, and go back to his boring desk job.

But that would be awful. He _liked_ this job, he didn't want to leave. Besides, they'd need to find another auror on short notice, and it would _kill_ Draco's course, all of his work. He could only imagine what reasons the papers would come up for his sudden departure, and it's not like he could tell them the truth.

So of course, he couldn't quit. He couldn't do that to Malfoy.

He wanted so badly for Draco's plans to work out, he could put up with being heartbroken and sexually frustrated until Christmas. They were already – he thought for a second – about halfway through the term, and the first half had gone by in the blink of an eye. One more blink, and he'd be able to escape. Until then, he'd just have to lick his wounds, and _try_ not to do anything else monumentally brainless.

That's all there really was to it.

* * *

It was raining the next afternoon, as Harry trudged up the path from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts. The same path he and Draco had walked the previous day. He turned his collar up against the wet, but didn't bother to cast an umbrella charm, preferring to let the cold water drip down his neck in a futile act of self-flagellation. Besides, he could just spell himself dry when he got indoors.

He kept walking as he passed the spot where everything had happened the day before, kicking himself for panicking and running away the way he did. He'd been amazed that he could feel any worse about himself, when he'd realised how ridiculous he must have looked. Throwing out some stupid line about drinking, before apparating. Too scared to face the long, awkward, trek back up to the castle.

Well, he was worse off now, wasn't he? And it served him right for acting like a child.

He was, pathetically, nervous.

Nervous of what it would be like now, of apologising for his behaviour, of whatever Draco would say to him… or worse, of Draco not saying anything to him, but keeping him at a cold distance.

He hadn't slept well, which wasn't helping. He'd stayed up playing games until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, but when he had fallen asleep, he'd had intense, jarring dreams. Dreams that jolted him awake with surges of emotion, but that he couldn't remember two minutes after waking up. Just after dawn, he'd woken with his hand down his pants, hard, and a hazy memory of parted lips and white skin fading quickly from his vision.

Groaning, he'd squeezed his eyes closed, tried to keep the image in his head, adding his own imagination to it when it disappeared. His hand working, he'd let his mind wander, flashing moments of fantasy into his mind's eye… his hand in white blonde hair, grey eyes staring up at him, bitten pink lips smiling around a full mouth…

He came in minutes, panting.

It wasn't the first time he'd jerked off thinking about Draco… but it was the first time it had made him feel dirty. He'd thrown back the covers, abandoning any thoughts of sleeping longer, and after cleaning up, had gone downstairs to help Kreacher take an inventory of the tea towels.

So now he was tired, and jittery after drinking too much coffee… and feeling incredibly guilty, for reasons he couldn't quite identify.

At least the rain was keeping everyone indoors. He didn't feel like being accosted by students – or staff, for that matter – on his way across the grounds.

Even once he pushed through the main doors, the halls were quiet. Thankfully. He must have just caught the lull after Sunday lunch, when everyone went back to their rooms, or their common room, or the library, or one of the castle's many secluded corners… the few students he passed weren't interested in chatting, and he was halfway to his rooms before anyone tried to speak to him.

"How was the date?"

Harry jumped, startled. Draco was only two steps away, half-hidden by a poorly placed suit of armour, and Harry had almost walked straight past him. "Date?" He parroted uselessly.

Draco smirked. "With the bottle?"

Oh, _that_ date. Harry grimaced. "I stood her up." He wasn't quite meeting Draco's eyes. "Ended up playing games, instead."

Draco's smirk turned into something more genuine. "Anything interesting?"

"Uhm," Harry swallowed. "Inside?"

"The platformer?" They fell into step with each other as they trod the familiar path to their rooms.

"Yeah." Such an eloquent response. Harry wilted. How could he ever even hope to be good enough for someone like Malfoy? He couldn't even hold a proper conversation.

"What did you think of it? Did you finish it?"

It was odd, and nerve-wracking. They just talked about the game, about the strange ending, and the secret rooms, and how it compared to its predecessor… were neither of them going to mention the, well, what had happened?

Apparently not, as by the time they reached Draco's door, he was talking about a game called _Swapper_ that he insisted Harry would enjoy. "It uses a similar mechanic to the mind-control puzzles in Inside, though _far_ more challenging."

"Sounds good, I'll check it out." He attempted a smile, wanting desperately to run and hide in his rooms… coward.

"Harry," Draco started before Harry could turn away, "about yesterday…"

Oh, here it came. He shook his head. "Just… forget about it." He tried to sound nonchalant, but it almost sounded like a plea. "I shouldn't have said anything…"

Draco's head tilted, there was a soft, significant smile on his lips. "I'm not sure I agree with that."

Harry stared, and Draco just smiled. "Do you want to come in?"

Panic. Irrational, unreasonable panic made Harry's hands prickle. "I, uh…" He spluttered.

"Just for a minute." Draco clarified, pushing his door open and stepping inside, looking back over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow when Harry didn't follow straight away.

God, he was gorgeous. Harry couldn't help it, he wanted him.

What else could he do? He followed.

It was warm in Draco's rooms, warmer than the rest of the castle. Another of Dobby's spells, no doubt. Draco shucked off his jumper as he crossed the floor, dropping it over the back of a chair, then leaning against the table.

Harry just stood, useless. Utterly unsure of what to do.

"I won't keep you." Draco began. "I just don't want to be overheard."

"It's OK." Harry managed. "I don't have anywhere to be."

"Still…" Draco was still wearing that smile. "I imagine you're uncomfortable, after yesterday."

It wasn't a question, so Harry didn't answer.

"I wasn't prepared for it, and I'm sorry if I upset you, but I'm glad you told me, Harry." His voice was, as always, steady. "If anything, it's a relief."

A _relief_? What? His bewilderment must have been clear, because Draco carried on.

"I was concerned enough that you'd find out I'm gay, let alone that I'm attracted to you."

 _I'm attracted to you_. Those words were as painful as they were thrilling. Draco was _attracted_ to him… attracted to _him_. It was surreal, amazing, beautiful… or it would be, if he was going to act on it. As it was, it just made him ache.

"I don't generally tell people about my sexuality, and I had no idea that you knew… you did know?"

"Yeah."

He nodded. "It's been more than a little stressful, worrying about how you might react, and ensuring that I didn't out myself." He explained, his face taking on that slightly sympathetic look he'd given Calvin during that very first lesson. "While it's somewhat… awkward, I do find it a relief, not having that eventuality hanging over my head any longer."

Harry figured he understood, though he was quietly hurt that Draco had thought he was a homophobe. "Are you in the closet?" He asked, wondering if this was really the right time for questions like that.

"Not technically, but I don't broadcast the knowledge." Draco's long fingers were toying with his discarded jumper, tracing the edge of the empty neck. "I have had less-than-positive reactions in the past."

"Oh."

"Are you?"

Oh… he wasn't expecting that.

"I suppose I am… _in_ the closet, I mean." That did _not_ feel good to say. "Only you and Hermione know."

"Ah." A look of pity twisted his face. "Well, I won't tell a soul."

"Thanks." Harry mumbled, though he didn't feel any better. He felt like a coward. They stood silent, the rain tapping on the windows. "So, uh… now what?"

Draco didn't pretend to need any clarification. "We keep working, unless you were planning on leaving."

"Nah, I'm not going anywhere." Harry managed, though guilt that he'd considered it jabbed at his insides.

"Good."

"So we just pretend that… there's… that nothing…" Harry didn't know how to phrase it.

"If that's what you'd like." Draco assented. "Though I can't see the point in it. We both _know_ that there are… feelings here. I think it would best if we just acknowledge them."

"Uh…" Harry was confused.

"You'd prefer to alter my memory?"

That was a joke… it had to be a joke. Harry attempted a wan smile. "Haven't ruled it out."

Draco smirked. "I'd rather you didn't."

But Harry was out of banter, feeling suddenly bone tired. "OK. So we're not going to, uh, do anything, but we know we both want to?" All he wanted to do was crawl into bed.

Draco frowned. "Essentially, yes. Though when you put it like that-"

"It's fine." Harry interrupted, shrugging. "It's just…" He trailed off, grimacing. Really, he was no worse off than yesterday, but it just _sucked_ , wanting so much.

"Quite." Draco agreed. "You understand why I can't?"

"Yeah." And he did. He knew it would be a circus, that it would put everything Draco had worked for on the line. He still wanted to try, of course, but he did get why Draco couldn't risk it. "I do."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N.

 _Hello! Sorry for the slow update. I was super busy with work, then I found this chapter really difficult. It's starting to get interesting though… hope you enjoy their, uh, banter…_

 _Lemme know what you think._

Harry felt terrible.

No. Not _terrible_. That was melodramatic, even for him. He just felt… awkward.

It wasn't like anything was different, really. The morning had passed as normal. Breakfast, third years, then sixth years. He and Draco had chatted and worked together like they had for the past six weeks, and he was almost getting used to it, then class finished and they headed to Draco's rooms – like normal – to spend morning break reading their mail on the sofa.

When there was no one else around, nothing to act as a buffer between them, that was when Harry felt uncomfortable.

He just didn't _get_ it. Sure, he'd agreed that he'd _acknowledge his feelings,_ but what did that actually mean? How was he supposed to act? He supposed it was – as Draco had said – a relief, not to have to constantly make sure he wasn't staring, or to try judge the appropriate distance to sit apart from him, or any of the other nothings that Harry had slowly become paranoid about… but it wasn't like they were going to start flirting with each other now, were they? _Acknowledging_ was not the same as _acting on_ , and Harry just didn't know what to expect, didn't know where to start.

Especially difficult because he _wanted_ to flirt with him. It wasn't like telling Draco that he liked him had made any of those feelings disappear. Slouching up against the armrest, he eyed Malfoy over the top of a letter (from an Enid Smallarm, inviting him over for tea and brown sugar biscuits).

Draco's head was bent over a thick, official looking piece of parchment, his eyebrows drawn together in the slightest frown. Harrys palms itched to grab his wrist and pull him over, to have Draco's weight on him, to unbutton that shirt and explore the hollow between his collarbones…

Ugh, that line of thinking was dangerous. Sitting up, Harry cast Enid's letter into the _should probably reply to someday_ pile and reached for the next envelope.

Ah. His copy of the weeks incident report from the Ministry, that was boring enough to distract him from the slow tightening in his pants. He slumped further down the sofa to read it.

A charmed cutlery set had glued a few muggle mouths shut in Aberdeen. A search of the local pawn shop had turned up an ancient snitch, a pair of silver candlesticks with everlasting candles, and – sadly – a puffskein fur coat. Investigation still under way…

Fa-a-ascinating. Harry huffed, flicked to the next page.

This was more like it. Garrick Sauer, a known werewolf sympathiser (of the Greyback variety, rather than the Lupin persuasion) and anti-muggle adherent was petitioning for a UK visa. It would never happen, obviously, but it was interesting.

How long had it been since he'd been face to face with a feral werewolf? A long time. Twelve, fourteen years ago? The last of Greybacks little experiments. It had been distressing, what he'd done to the girl to make her so savage, but they'd had to deal with it, with her. At the thought, a scar on his chest – a souvenir from that encounter – twinged, and he absent-mindedly pushed his hand under his shirt to rub at it.

They'd tracked her down to a tunnel beneath an overpass in Wales. Wild, half-starved, scared, she was only a teenager, but she'd taken off Reece's hand before they managed to get her contained. They'd offered to help her, but she said she'd rather die than accept help from any wizard. She was as good as her word, too. She hung herself from the bars of her holding cell, with her own filthy shoelaces.

Oh, he hoped Sauer tried to get into Britain illegally. He hoped he had the chance to end someone who made excuses for what had been done to that girl.

"Bad news?"

Harry blinked. He'd been miles away, staring at nothing. "Uh…"

Draco had half-turned towards him, his elbow up on the back of the sofa, a soft kind of concern on his face. He _hated_ that look. That was the look he'd been given every time someone thought he was weak. He'd been given that look after he'd passed out because of the Dementors, when Sirius had died, when Dumbledore had died. Ginny had given him that look after the werewolf girl had killed herself…

"Potter?" Draco frowned, leaning forward.

"Yeah… I mean, no. Not bad news…" Harry waved the papers still in one hand. "Just reminiscing."

" _Happy_ memories, clearly." Draco's voice dripped with sarcasm, something Harry much preferred to the gentle sympathy.

"What other kind could I _possibly_ have?" Harry countered, raising an eyebrow and earning himself one of Draco's _huffs_.

"Well then, if you're not about to start sobbing, could you possibly deign to cover yourself up?" Draco gestured, waving a long hand into the space between them, a motion that caught Harry's attention long enough that he took a second to register what Malfoy had actually said.

Oh… _Oh…_ His hand was still rubbing at the scar that crossed his third and fourth ribs, pulling up his shirt to bare his stomach. Was that what Draco was looking at him like _that_ for? With his eyebrow all arched and that mocking smile on his lips. It wasn't something he'd even thought about, his scar had just itched…

"Uh…" Harry froze, not really sure how he was meant to react. He probably should just pull his damn shirt down, but it felt too much like losing.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, Potter, but you're rather distracting, and in light of recent… revelations…" That eyebrow arched higher, his eyes trained steadily on Harrys, like he was forcing himself not to look down.

 _Ohhhh_ … Harry stifled a grin. Well, that was good for his ego. Craning his neck, he regarded the expanse of skin between his pants and shirt. He didn't see what was so _distracting_ about it. Maybe Malfoy had a thing for body hair? He certainly had enough of that. The dark trail that ran from his navel down into his pants had spread over the years, and now it extended up his stomach and connected up with his chest hair. Ugh, what if Malfoy _hated_ body hair, and he was distracted because it was grossing him out?

He glanced up. No, Draco was very not grossed out. His gaze had followed Harry's down to his exposed skin, and when he dragged it back to Harry's face, his eyes were dark, his cheeks red, and his pointed look very, _very_ deliberate. Harry's mouth went dry. Was this what _acknowledging their feelings_ was in practice? Not bothering to mask the want in their eyes? Draco _wanted_ him, Harry could read that on his face like it was text.

"Rescued any kittens lately?"

What? Somewhere, beyond the part of his brain that was struggling to process what was going on, his mind found a quote from that _Witch Weekly_ article. _Potter looks like he rescues kittens from burning buildings or something…_

"Only thing I've ever saved from a burning building is you." He managed, before realising his mistake. Even before Draco's face tensed, he wanted to inhale those words back into his lungs. _Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. No_ , _don't make him think of that… of Crabbe._ Desperate to stop Draco from affecting his smooth, emotionless mask, he _finally_ pulled his arm from his top and used his hands to push himself up. "Does that mean I get to call you _Kitten_?"

That worked. Harry had never seen Draco look so conflicted. Amusement warred with pure disgust at the thought of being called something so saccharine, and eventually (with an expression on his face that was directly inherited from his mother, like he could smell something awful) he answered. "No. No you may not."

" _Kitten_." Harry purred. "It suits you."

"I am not above obliviating you." Draco threatened, but he couldn't quite keep the scowl in place. "Or perhaps just gagging you." He smirked at that. "There are some rather ingenious variants of the Incarcerous spell."

Merlin. Harry didn't even like the thought of being tied up, but Draco's _Incarcerous_ line still turned him on. He wasn't fully hard, but it wouldn't take much. One more suggestive remark from Draco, and he'd be throbbing.

"Find another way to shut me up, Malfoy… ropes won't work." He didn't want to dwell on why he'd mastered every binding counter curse. Memories of being tied to Riddell's father's grave haunted him enough at night, he didn't need to dust off those thoughts during the day.

Draco's smirk grew into something wicked. "A way to shut you up…" He raised his index finger to his lip in mock contemplation. "Something to keep your mouth occupied, perhaps?"

Yup. That did it. Harry was hard. He didn't know what Malfoy specifically wanted with his mouth, and he didn't care. He just wanted to do it. He stared.

"Like lecturing your Gryffindors…" There was a sigh in Draco's voice. "It's time to go back to class."

"Shit." Harry grimaced, shifting to sit up properly. "That."

Draco _huffed_ his semi-laugh. "Yes, _that_. Our job. The reason we're here…"

"Yeah, you're gonna have to give me a minute." _Or maybe ten minutes, and some privacy. Or maybe you could lie down with me here and…_ Harry let his head drop, took a long, deep breath. That train of thought wasn't helping.

He felt stupid, of course he did… but he kind of also didn't care. Draco _knew_ that Harry wanted him, and though Harry seemed to be the only one of them that was sporting a painfully hard erection, Draco was a _guy_ , he'd know what this was like… He looked up into Draco's amused face. "Oh shut up, you did this on purpose." He growled.

"I didn't say anything." Malfoy stood, utterly smug. "I'll go start without you. You just… take as much time as you need."

Ten minutes and some privacy it was… shit. He slumped back onto the sofa as soon as Draco swept out the room, looked down to glare at where his pants tented. Was he really going to jerk off in Draco's rooms? No. Obviously not. That would be… well, it would be kind of exactly what Draco thought he was doing, right? He'd basically given Harry permission. So what was the harm?

His fly was open and his hand was working before he had the chance to talk himself out of it. _Something to keep your mouth occupied, perhaps?_ What had he been thinking? Kissing? Harry imagined their lips together, their tongues. He pictured his mouth on Draco's neck, fine stubble rasping at his cheek. Or was Draco thinking of something more carnal? Every time he'd imagined them together, he'd visualised Draco's mouth around his cock… but picturing the opposite was… exciting. Looking up to watch Malfoy's flushed face, heavy eyes, stuttered breaths.

He held that image in his head, Draco's face as he watched Harry suck him off. What would he be like when he came? Was he the noisy type, or the long, shuddering breath type? Would he squeeze his eyes shut, or did he like to hold eye contact? In Harry's fantasy, Draco bit his lip, and tangled his hand in Harry's hair, and let out a juddering moan as he came in Harry's mouth… in the real world, Harry bit his lip, and clutched at the sofa cushion, and whined as he came across his own stomach.

It was weird that Harry felt so _good_ , afterwards.

He felt awkward, of course. He'd wanked on Draco's sofa, and Draco knew about it. It was _weird_. But he still kind of didn't care. He got what the _acknowledging his feelings_ thing was about now. He was _allowed_ to lust after Malfoy. Malfoy _liked_ it.

Slightly delirious in his post-orgasmic daze, Harry laughed. Of _course_ Draco would like it. He'd always been a vain, preening little peacock. He'd _love_ the idea of Harry, his childhood nemesis, getting horny over him. Horny enough to need an impromptu release in the middle of the morning, no less. Draco _loved_ that kind of power. He was probably flouncing around the classroom at that very moment, giddy with the thought of his effect on _The Chosen One_.

He groped for his wand to clean himself off, thinking that maybe this _acknowledging_ development could be fun. Angsty and sexually frustrating, but fun. It wasn't what Harry actually wanted, obviously, but it was better than when he'd been hiding it. He'd have to jerk off at least twice a day, more, if Draco kept that kind of innuendo up, but he'd manage.

 _He'd manage_. He laughed again as he pulled his trousers up. Why was nothing ever _normal_ with him?

After he slid into the classroom – trying desperately not the blush and waiting for a jibe from an overly-cheerful Draco that never came – the rest of the lesson passed without incident. Well, the students _were_ practicing non-verbal duelling, so there were definitely incidents… they just weren't unexpected.

What was unexpected was Minerva's news at lunchtime. Harry had been so distracted over the last few days that he'd completely forgotten about his request to hold Patronus classes in the evening.

"The board approves." McGonagall said happily as she dropped a parchment dangerously close to Harry's full plate. "Third year and up. You can start the lessons whenever you like." And she swanned off to her seat.

Harry didn't know what to say. He'd been so excited for these classes, the kind of hesitant _it'll never happen_ kind of excited that had him pretending it wasn't a big deal, when it really was. It didn't make any real sense, but the chance to teach the Patronus charm just made him feel good, reminded him of some of his happiest… no, not happiest. Learning and teaching that Patronus charm reminded Harry of some of the most _important_ times he'd spent at this school. Of Lupins unwavering patience and the trust that Dumbledores Army had put in him. He turned the parchment over in his hands.

"Well done, Potter." Malfoy eyed the twelve signatures that spanned the bottom of the paper. "They'll be talking about this for years."

Harry snorted. Typical Slytherin fame-mongering. "Ah, yes, because I was beginning to worry that there wasn't enough talk."

He could almost hear Draco rolling his eyes. "If you teach even a quarter of those third years to produce a non-corporeal Patronus, you're proving more about the ability of those children and your teaching methods than the board would like to admit."

"I, uh…" Harry looked up. Didn't he feel like a massive git. "Yeah." He agreed, remembering all the times that he and his peers were underestimated, back when he was at school. "I s'pose it would."

Draco nodded. His voice dropped to something near a whisper "Could I ask a favour?"

"Course. Anything." Harry had jerked off in the man's rooms after all, he kind of owed him. He bit back a grin at the thought.

"Private lessons?"

Harry blinked. Draco couldn't cast a Patronus? But Draco was _good_ at magic. He was powerful. Sure, maybe he was never given lessons, but the teenaged Draco would have surely looked the spell up as soon as he'd realised Harry could cast one. He had been spiteful and petty like that, and more than capable of teaching himself advanced magic on the sly.

"I've just never been able to get the knack of it." Draco offered by way of explanation. "So if you could…"

"Yeah. Sure." He dropped the parchment and picked up his fork. "We'll start tonight, if you're free."

"My rooms?"

Harry shook his head, swallowed his mouthful of pasta. "Nah. The DADA room should work fine. We'll go after dinner?"

Draco looked just the slightest bit confused at that. "We could just stay after 6th period."

"We could." Harry agreed. "But after six weeks of treacle tart and hardly any exercise, I need to get on my broom. I'm getting fat."

Malfoy's eyes lit up at that. _Quidditch_. "Fancy a challenge?"

He thought about it. He'd like the practice, of course, and to ogle Draco all strapped up in his flying leathers. But he also needed to clear his head, especially if he was going to be spending the evening alone with Malfoy.

"Bad idea." He leaned forward, lowered his voice, _hoped_ that to the students, it just looked like any of the intense conversations that the teachers sometimes had.

"Hmm?" Draco's gaze was level, as always, but his pupils widened, making his eyes dark. "How so?"

"Your leathers, Malfoy," Harry breathed. He was hyper-aware of everyone around him, of how monumentally idiotic it was to talk about this with Flitwick sitting at his left elbow. But it was definitely thrilling. "make me want to do very stupid things."

"In that case…" Draco smirked, nodding like Harry had just said something completely reasonable. "We wouldn't want you to do anything _stupid_ , would we?"


	12. Chapter 12

* I offer four thousand apologies for how long it's taken me to update this. Life, y'know? *

* * *

"Oh _forget_ it, Potter." Draco scowled. His lip curled up as he shoved his wand into his pocket. "It's not going to work."

Harry stared, bewildered at Malfoy's sudden outburst. That wasn't like Draco at all, snapping like that. He frowned.

"It's only your third go, Draco. It's norm-"

"It is _not_ normal." Draco cut him off. "Not for me." His wand hand closed into a tight fist.

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. _Oh poor little Draco. He comes across something he can't do instantly, and he just gives up_ … but he managed to restrain himself. Something was obviously wrong. This was the third night in a row they'd been practicing the Patronus charm, and Draco had produced _nothing_. Not that Harry was worried or surprised about that, but he _was_ worried and surprised about how agitated Malfoy was during the practice sessions. He was so _hard_ on himself. Harry had tried a few different approaches, but each time they didn't work, Draco just seemed to get more uptight.

Uptight wasn't going to work.

"Look…" He flicked his wand, dragging two of the big squashy pillows they used for duelling practice onto the floor in front of them. "Lie down with me." He flopped down onto one of the cushions.

"Potter…" There was a dangerous edge to Malfoy's voice.

"Malfoy…" Harry teased, and closed his eyes. He shuffled his shoulders back to get comfy against the red velvet, and waited.

He counted six seconds before he heard Draco's irritated snort, and the pillow next to him _flumph_ as the other man dropped onto it. He cracked open an eye. Draco was perched on the cushion, back ramrod straight, legs crossed, hands on his knees. "Pray tell why I'm sitting on the floor?" He snarked.

"Not sitting. Lie back." Harry demanded gently, reaching out to tug at Draco's elbow, urging him to settle back into the plush fabric. "Humour me."

Draco snorted again, but quieter this time, and allowed himself to fall back against the pillow.

"Close your eyes." Harry mumbled, putting a hand behind his head, letting himself relax. "You know the theory behind the charm, you can't expect to produce a Patronus if you're beating yourself up about it. You have to loosen up."

There was a long quiet. Then a long, low sigh. "I'm sorry, Harry. I think I've been wasting your time."

Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from scoffing. "What makes you say that?"

"Death Eaters can't produce Patronuses." His voice caught. "We're corrupted."

 _Ah._ So _that_ was what was eating him up. Harry'd heard the theory, but he didn't believe it. In fact he _knew_ it wasn't true. Snape had been able to cast his silver doe, and he'd worn the dark mark for over a decade. Harry shook his head, emphatic. "No. You're wrong. Maybe the _real_ Death Eaters can't, but you can. You were never really one of them."

"But I had – I _have_ his mark. His magic is in my skin."

Harry's stomach clenched at the weakness in Draco's voice. Not fearful, or desperate, but vulnerable. He knew that feeling. He remembered the distress he'd felt in second year when he'd realised that he and Voldemort were linked. He remembered feeling dirty, violated.

"It _was_ in your skin." Harry protested. "He's dead. His magic is gone. What Voldemort did was a perversion against nature, and it couldn't last without him there to maintain it. It's _not_ in you anymore…

"And besides, his magic might have been in your skin, but his _soul_ was living in me, I had a direct link to his mind, his feelings, and I could still do it. It's not the dark mark that's stopping you, Draco, I promise. It's just…" he trailed off.

"Just what?" Draco asked.

"You can't analyse when it comes to this, Draco. You just have to let yourself feel stuff, without thinking about all the bad shit that might be associated with it."

"I…" Draco started, but he didn't finish.

Harry bit his lip, hoping like hell he wasn't overstepping some boundary, glad his eyes were closed so he didn't have to look at Draco's sceptical face while he spoke.

"I know you well enough by now to know that you're self-deprecating, underneath it all. But if you really want to cast a Patronus, you can't let yourself wonder if you deserveto use whatever memories you have. Or, if the memory is happy because you were getting out of something awful, you can't think about the awful bit." He screwed his eyes shut tighter, struggling to find words for what he wanted to say. "You just have to focus on that one moment, when everything was OK. That feeling in your stomach… you can't let yourself talk, uh, yourself out of it."

"You sound like you know what you're talk about." Draco's voice was almost a whisper.

"Yeah. I do." He paused for a second, not really wanting to delve into the memories of the Dursleys that he'd used to conjure his first Patronus. "I really think you can do it… if you just relax." _Easier said than done, I know_. "So, do you wanna try again?"

Another pause. "Yes."

"OK." Harry sucked a deep breath in through his nose. "OK… so…" He tried to gather his thoughts. "Have you got your memory?"

"I think so."

"So… do you remember that feeling? With me, it's pressure, like a bubble, under my ribs. Kind of like excitement, and anticipation. It makes my throat feel thick, and my eyes sting."

"Like you might cry?" Draco breathed, his question barely audible.

"Yeah." Harry admitted. "Is it like that for you?"

"Yes."

"OK. So get your wand, but don't do anything with it yet, just focus on that feeling, if it was relief, or – possibility, or whatever. Whatever you were thinking, feeling, in that moment." The cushion shifted as Draco dug his wand out from his pocket. "Imagine all of that emotion as pressure, building up, filling your lungs and pushing up your throat and pressing at the back of your eyes…"

They sat in the silence, Harry could hear Draco's even breathing, could see the shifting light from the fireplace through his eyelids, could smell the resinous smoke in the air and the dust in the pillows.

"Now move your wand in little circles. Picture the pressure forcing up your arm, gathering speed as you move your wand, like a cyclone. Then when it's built up 'til you can't hold it anymore, when it feels like your wand's vibrating with it, say the incantation, and just let it go, all at once…"

More silence. Draco's breathing deepened, the rain rattling against the leaded windows rattled harder as the evening winds picked up. Harry could hear the slight movement when Draco started moving his wand. He wanted to watch, but he kept his eyes closed, trying to picture the scene in his mind, Draco's eyes shut tight, his face tense with concentration.

What was Draco thinking about? What was the memory he was trying to use? Was it from his childhood, or from the war? Or perhaps an adult memory, something from the years since Hogwarts.

" _Expecto Patronum."_

Harry barely heard the whispered words leave Malfoy's lips, but he saw the bluish light of a Patronus through his eyelids, and heard Draco's gentle gasp, so he wasn't surprised – when he cracked his eyes open – to see the quicksilver disk of a non-corporeal Patronus streaming from the end of Draco's wand.

"Perfect." He murmured, watching how the silvery mist furled in on itself at the edge of the disk, rather than dispersing into the air. For all of his reservations, Draco had produced the strongest first Patronus Harry had ever seen. _Of course._ He couldn't help his smile as pride pressed at his chest. _I told you so_. He grinned to himself, turning his head to watch Draco's face.

He'd expected Malfoy to look firm, his eyebrows drawn and his mouth pulled into a straight line as he focussed on his spell… but he looked… ethereal. In the strange light, his white blond hair was the colour of lightning. His eyes were wide, staring at his first Patronus. They were damp with un-spilled tears that gathered against his bottom eyelashes, sparkling with that same blue glow, and his mouth… far from being a hard line of concentration, his lips were soft, slightly parted.

Oh Merlin. Harry's heart thumped, an uncomfortable hollow _thud_ in the centre of his chest. Draco was _beautiful_. He swallowed as the prickly, almost-crying feeling they'd been talking about thickened at the back of his throat.

He stared. He knew he was staring. He didn't know what else to do. He realised – or maybe he just stopped kidding himself – that whatever he felt for Draco wasn't just going to _go away_ when they left Hogwarts at Christmas time. It wasn't just lust. It was never just lust. He couldn't just separate their friendship from his desire from the genuine admiration he had for Malfoy as a person. There was no chance of compartmentalising his colleague from his friend from the man he wanted to go to bed with… He wanted all of them. He wanted to know every aspect of Draco, even the annoying bits, the pompous bits…

This wasn't just a crush, not anymore…

Shit.

…

"That was surprisingly draining." Draco was sprawled on the pillow, eyes closed, his limbs held in that loose-jointed way that made it look like he'd just finished having good sex… despite being fully clothed.

He'd ended up casting three non-corporeal Patronuses. No wonder he was tired.

"It gets easier, but yeah." Harry agreed, trying not to obsess over a lock of white blond hair that had freed itself from its pretentious little man bun and was now lying across Draco's forehead. "The chocolate helps."

"Mmmm." Draco raised his hand lazily to his mouth, biting down on the square of chocolate Harry had passed him. Harry watched how the fine bones of Draco's jaw moved under his skin, wondered for the thousandth time how that skin would feel under his fingertips.

Ugh. He stifled a sigh and stubbornly turned his gaze out into the classroom. Why was this happening? He'd just gotten used to the idea of flirting with the man, knowing there would be no _end game_ … why did he suddenly have to feel even _more_? Especially knowing that nothing was going to happen. The only way this could end was with Harry getting hurt, but he couldn't help it. The most he could hope for was to try to stop himself doing anything stupid, stop himself from being humiliated, on top of getting his heart broken.

Because it seemed that a broken heart was now inevitable.

"You're a very good teacher, Harry." Draco touched his fingertips briefly against Harry's wrist, making Harry's stomach flip at the sudden contact. "Thank you."

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek. "Well, you're easy to teach… you just needed a bit of a push, really."

"It wasn't as simple as that, though I should have known you'd come over all humble." Draco sniffed. "You have the gift of being able to relate to people, and to put things in a way that they understand. It's quite impressive."

"I, uh… thanks." Harry didn't know what to say, he could barely make sense of his own thoughts. He just stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. The fire was still crackling away in the fireplace, though the last of the candles were starting to sputter out. It occurred to him – not for the first time – that Hogwarts was an incredibly romantic place. Especially if you were one of those people who liked to hear the rain falling outside, which Harry definitely was.

God, he wished things were different. He wished that he could pull Draco over. He wanted Malfoy lying on top of him, nestled between his legs. He wanted to pull the tie from his bun, feel his impossibly fine hair against his hands as he cupped the back of his head. He wanted to kiss him. Long, lazy, indulgent kisses. Slow kisses. He wanted to lie on the velvet cushions, in the fire-lit room, and feel Draco's skin against his own. He wanted the heat from Draco's body against him, the cool of the air making him feel even hotter. He wanted Draco's breath in his ear, drowning out the rain rattling against the windows…

"Are you alright?" Draco shifted on his pillow. "You've gone quiet."

"Just tired." He managed to choke out, looking over to give Draco a wan smile.

"Ah, right." Malfoy didn't look convinced. "It _is_ getting late, and we still have to put the room back in order." He raised his arms above his head and stretched, his back arching and his head back… Harry swallowed, looked quickly away when Draco dropped back onto the pillow. "Time to call it a night?"

"You go ahead. I'll clean up." He put his hands behind his head. He wasn't ready to go back to his rooms yet. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts, but climbing into a big empty bed just seemed too… lonely.

Draco stretched again, then heaved himself up to rest his elbows on his knees. "You don't want to come up for a nightcap?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't feel like drinking. He didn't feel like settling down on Draco's big sofa, to chat and laugh and flirt, to then walk back to his own rooms alone. Tonight, it just hurt too much. He wanted too much. "Not really in the mood."

"Potter." Draco had shuffled round to face him. "Are you sure you're alright? You're acting out of sorts."

Ugh. He didn't want to get all morose and whingey. But the look on Draco's face, like he was actually concerned… he didn't want to lie, either. He shrugged. "It's fine. I'll get over it. I'm just having an off day."

But Draco wasn't going to drop it. "Get over what, exactly?" He frowned. "I didn't offend you at all, did I?"

"I, what? No." _The hell?_ "Why would you think that?"

"Deduction. You were fine at the beginning of the evening, and at some point, you closed up. I'm the only person who could have upset you." His face was perfectly composed now, of course, except for the blush creeping across his cheekbones. God how Harry loved that blush.

"Merlin." He growled. "No, you haven't offended me. It's just…" How the hell was he supposed to say this? "This is just… this thing, with you. It's just harder, than I thought it would be."

"Ah." Draco's face instantly softened, and irritation spiked through Harry. He didn't want fucking pity, for fucks sake. "That."

Peeved, he shut his eyes. "Yeah, _that_." He sounded like a petulant teenager. Lovely. "But I'll get over it. It's just tough, sometimes. That's all."

 _That's all_. Like it wasn't driving him up the wall. Like having Draco lying so close to him for the past couple of hours hadn't make his chest physically ache with want.

"I find it difficult at times, too." Draco's voice was low. "I wish things could be different."

It seemed like a stupid, dangerous question to ask. But when had that ever stopped him? "Different how?"

Draco hesitated a moment. Harry could hear him fidget with his pant leg, then draw a breath in through his nose. Finally, he answered. "Sometimes I wish I were someone else. Someone who would be good for you. I imagine what it would be like to meet you now, with none of our history…" He took another deep breath, let it out in a long sigh. "But more often, I wonder what would have happened if I had just been… kind. If I hadn't insulted Hagrid the first time I met you, and Ron the next, we may have been friends. It could have changed everything."

It was weirdly hard to breathe. Harry'd wondered the same sorts of things. What would it have been like if their ridiculous feud had just never happened? He'd pictured a million possible scenarios, from peaceful train rides, to hunting horcruxes together… he hadn't ever imagined that Draco was picturing the same.

"But I can't change the past." Draco murmured. "No matter how much I want to."

"Cos we broke all the time turners." Harry muttered, a lame attempt at a joke. He didn't mind when Draco didn't laugh.

"I am very sorry that I can't, in good conscience, give you what you want." He _huffed_ one of his almost-laughs. "I'm still rather amazed that you feel that way about me."

Harry knew that feeling. It still felt impossibly surreal that Draco liked him back. He almost wished that he didn't. Surely it would be easier to get over a straight-up rejection, than this hellish, pining want. He bit the inside of his lip. This sucked. This flat-out sucked. It _hurt_. He didn't trust himself to open his eyes… or his mouth. He was scared of what he might say. He didn't want to make Draco feel guilty for not being with him, he didn't want to pressure him. But he knew that if he started talking about how he felt, he was going to be hurt even more, somehow. So he kept his mouth shut.

"Are you sure you're OK with putting the desks back?" Draco asked quietly, after minutes of silence.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." It only took a few waves of the wand.

"I might go up to bed then."

"Alright."

"I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah. G'night."

Harry listened to him leave. The cushion shifting, his footfalls on the wooden floor. He heard the _shuff_ of robes as they were pulled off their hook.

He heard the door open, heard Draco hesitate. But Harry didn't open his eyes to see the look on his face, and he left without saying anything.


	13. Chapter 13

I'm back! Sans laptop, doing everything on my phone. please bear with me :)

cw for a brief mention of suicide-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

"Alright, once you've finished your chocolate, you can leave… and head straight back to your dorms, I don't want these classes cancelled because a bunch of you get caught raiding the kitchens again." Harry narrowed his eyes at a group of Hufflepuffs who guiltily looked away.

"Oh, and because next Monday is Halloween, I'm going to push the lessons out a day… so next week you'll be here Friday instead of Thursday…" He paused for a second. "I'll get notices put up to remind you."

"Halloween already… time flies."

Harry jumped, flinching away from the sudden voice in his ear. "Jesus f-" He spun around, glaring at Draco who had somehow snuck right up on him. "You bastard. You almost killed me."

Draco held his hands up, smiling. "Sorry, couldn't resist…" He nodded his head out to the great hall, where students were starting to heave themselves up off the cushions. "Is it over?"

"Yeah, you just missed it." Harry rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest, over where his heart was still racing. "Did you manage to finish those essays, then?"

"Pity… I'll have to come along next week." Draco watched the hall empty as students started milling out the doors, talking quietly to each other. They were always rather subdued after the Patronus lessons. "Yes, they're all marked. I'll get you to look at a few of the borderline ones though, when you have a minute."

Harry nodded. "Sure. I can come up as soon as I've cleared up here, if that's cool?"

Harry filled Draco in on the lesson while they waited for the hall to clear. It was amazing, really, how much the kids had progressed in one week. About half of the six and seventh years had managed to produce a non-corporeal patronus in what had just been their second lesson, and three had managed a corporeal. It was clear they'd been practicing in their own time.

"That's fantastic." Draco stared. "Do you think any of the third years will manage it?"

"Yeah, I think so." Harry couldn't help grinning. He was so proud of those kids. "Some of them almost had it last time… come watch Monday's class if you want."

"I will." Draco smiled back, and Harry's heart thumped. There was something soft in Draco's eyes, something that had been showing itself more and more recently. Everything about Draco seemed softer, since that night a few weeks back, when he'd cast his first patronus.

After that night, the aggressive flirting had come to an abrupt halt, and though Harry worried about it at first, he was glad that they'd stopped. It had made it too hard to think, it had put him on edge. It was fun in the moment, but it complicated everything. Draco seemed to have understood that, and though for a few days they were kind of awkward around each other, tentative, they seemed to have come to an understanding.

There had been no more discussions about their feelings for each other, no more blatant come-ons… they were almost back to being the friends they'd been before Harry had blurted out his garbled confession… almost. There was just something else, something that hadn't been there before. He couldn't name what it was, wouldn't have been able to explain it to anyone, it was just a kind of… warmth. Their conversations – when they veered into the personal – seemed more intimate, more candid. Draco's language became less formal, and he seemed more relaxed. Harry didn't know what the changes meant, what their growing comfort with each other actually signified, but he was grateful for it.

"I've always wanted to do this." Draco pulled up one cheek in a smile as he waved his wand, and the massive tables stacked against the walls rose into the air. "I pulled a bench out from under Crabbe and Goyle once, but it wasn't the same." The tables landed with a synchronised thunk, and Draco moved on to the benches. "Should we mess with them?"

Harry snorted. "Like how?"

"Make them a bit taller? Do it a little more every day?"

"You've been reading Roald Dahl, haven't you?"

"The Twits." Draco grinned. "Well?"

How could Harry resist that? "Go on then."

"Slytherins weren't really the pranking type." Draco told Harry later as they walked along the deserted corridors. "Far too undignified." He sniffed. "I hope that's changed."

"I think it has." Harry let his arm bump up against Draco's as they walked. "There's that Darryl, in fourth year."

Draco chuckled. "Thank god he hasn't got a twin."

"Or red hair." Harry agreed. "But the twins probably would've done pretty well in Slytherin. They were ambitious enough, and sneaky."

"That swamp was a stroke of genius, wasn't it? It's still-" Draco put a hand on Harry's arm, pulling him to a stop. "What's that?"

The castle was full of odd noises, especially in the halls where the portraits were always talking and moving around, but the sound Draco was talking about was different.

Rushed footsteps echoed down the hallways, followed by ragged, sobbing breaths, clearly audible above the murmuring paintings.

"Up there." Draco pointed to a branching corridor, and together they dashed down it, not quite running, but close enough to. The sobbing grew louder as they approached another passage, white wandlight dancing on the walls. The rounded the corner, almost running straight into…

"Simon?" Draco recognised him before Harry did. A fifth year Hufflepuff, normally chatty and friendly, but now with tears streaking down his face and his eyes wide.

"Professor Malfoy!" He gasped, grabbing on to Draco's robes to steady himself. "Potter… Thank Merlin… I… it's Gabe!"

"What's happened?" Harry's voice was clear, calm. He'd been in countless situations like this before.

"We were practicing, dueling, and I wanted to go in, but she kept-"

There wasn't the time for this. "Simon, listen. You can tell us the whole story later. I just need to know what you hit her with, and where she is."

"I don't know what I hit her with! But she wouldn't wake up, and she's all cold!"

"That's OK. Where is she?"

"Astronomy tower."

Shit, he'd have to run. "OK, now what you need to do it go straight to Madame Pomfrey. Do you know the fastest way to get there from here?"

He nodded, sniffling.

"Good. Help her with her things, and answer any questions she has quickly and directly, OK?

"OK."

"Good, now go. The portraits will wake her for you."

"Already on it." A muffled voice came from the wall behind him.

"Thanks." He turned to Draco as Simon ran off down the hall. "I'm going to get her. Can you find something warm and follow me up?"

"Of course." Draco nodded, his face drawn.

"Thanks." Harry was already running as he called back. "Hurry! I might need you!"

The tower wasn't far, but the stairs… Harry was glad he'd kept somewhat in shape, but still, halfway up the tower he was panting and sweating. He couldn't stop for a rest though, he just pulled off his cloak as he ran, taking the stairs two at a time. Fear starting to set in now that he was by himself. _Please let her be OK. Please don't let me be too late._

He burst through the open tower door. "Gabe? Gabriel?" He hurried forward, past the lit brazier that blocked his view of the towertop.

There.

She lay in shadow, unmoving. _Please_. Harry begged as he ran to her, dropped to his knees. Her hair was in her face, and he brushed it aside, tilted her head back to feel for a pulse. She was cold, like Simon had said, and a strange mark bloomed on one of her cheeks. That must be where she'd been hit.

 _Dum… du-dum… dum_ …

Thank Merlin. A heartbeat. A wave of relief ran through him so strong that he leaned forward and sucked in a deep breath of air to steady himself. She was alive... but freezing.

He threw his cloak over her before leaning to look at the mark on her face. It was white, even whiter than her eerily pale skin, and it had a strange crystalline sheen to it. Ice. It was a thin layer of ice blossoming from her skin, dangerously close to her eye.

Tentatively, he placed his hand over the mark, pressing his palm against the ice. He could feel it melting, water beading up under his hand, but she was still deathly cold, and if the curse moved to her eye, she could lose her sight.

 _Shit_. He'd never seen a spell quite like this before, not used on a person, at least. But hot/cold dynamics were pretty simple when you were dealing with everyday magic. The simplest course of action was to just apply more heat.

Closing his eyes, he pictured what Draco did when he cast his wandless heating spell. How he held his palm out to the room and moved it in a wide arc, like he was casting a wave of warmth into the air… Harry could do that. He'd just cast it into Gabriel's face.

 _This is a bad idea_. He thought, right before he did it.

Heat prickled at his palm, her cheek was suddenly slick with melted ice. He fumbled for her pulse again with his other hand, and held his breath until he could feel the weak heartbeat under his fingertips. _It's working_! "Come on Gabe." He breathed, kneeling on the stones, willing her to wake up.

"I won't make you do the werewolf essay," he rambled as he worked "and I'll get Molly to make you some jam tarts. They're amazing, I don't know what her secret is, but th- ow fuck!" He jerked his arm back, swearing. What the hell? Pain had lanced through his hand, up his wrist. Like an electric shock but cold…

 _Uh-oh_. It was transference. The unintended transfer of magic from one thing to another. It took a pretty powerful curse to have enough magic to spill over like that, and it had hit Gabe right on the face.

Shit.

"Harry?"

"Over here!" He held one hand up, waving, and clapped the other one back over the mark. He couldn't use any more magic on it, it could do too much damage. _How much damage have I already done?_

Draco knelt down beside him, a thick blanket in his arms. "How is she?"

"Not good. She was hit in the face with a decent curse. She's got a pulse though. Can you get that blanket on her?"

Draco said nothing, but moved to lay the blanket over Harry's cloak, gently tucking the edges under Gabe's cold body.

"How long has it been?" Harry asked, his eyes trained on Gabe's face, his spelled palm aching.

"Only a few minutes." Draco stood. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Do you know anything about powerful ice or freezing spells?"

"Not when they're on someone's face."

"Then no."

"I'll meet Poppy, fill her in on the way up."

"Tell her it's strong, there's transference."

"There's… _Harry_ , are you OK?"

"Don't worry about me!" Harry barked. "Go find Poppy, carry her up here if you have to!"

Draco left without another word, and Harry kept kneeling, his unharmed hand on Gabe's face, his knees aching on the stones.

It felt like hours when he finally heard people approaching, Madame Pomfrey's sharp voice giving directions, her thin, strong hand on Harry's shoulder. She inspected the curse while asking Harry questions, then gestured with her wand to make a stretcher slide beneath Gabriel's prone form.

"I should be able to contain the curse while I find a cure." She handed Harry back his cloak. "Come see me about that hand in an hour or so, and until then, _no magic_. Not until we have a better idea of what we're dealing with. You," She pointed at Simon, standing red-eyed by the brazier, "with me."

Harry watched them go, clenching and unclenching his aching hand. It was cold right to the bone, the skin was chilled… but Gabe was OK. He wasn't a healer – he had to remind himself – he was an auror. He only had basic first aid training, a field kit of basic potions… it wasn't his job to heal.

He still felt like he'd failed. God, what if he'd made everything worse? What if she ended up blind, or brain damaged, or in a permanent coma, because of him? How could he have been so stupid?

"Harry?" Draco's voice carried on the breeze, soft.

"Yeah, I'm here." Harry sighed, making his way to the door. He'd have plenty of time to berate himself later.

"Have you been here… since…"

Since… since Dumbledore. Oh.

He stopped, turned around to squint at the battlements. It was still there, glinting softly in the light from the brazier. Fawkes' old perch, a dull gold in the firelight. Harry had put it there himself, stuck it to the stone with a permanent sticking charm. A monument to friends who would never return…

… and then he'd sat on the parapet and cried until his nose bled. Cried until he lost his voice. Cried until Hermione had found him and held him until he stopped shaking.

He'd considered jumping that day. After the war was over, when everyone was beginning to pick up the pieces of their lives. He'd caused so much death, so much pain. He was the cause of the Weasley's grief, the reason Teddy didn't have parents. Hermione had lost her family, unsure if she'd ever be able to find them again. He'd lost friends, the closest people he had to family. He was technically an adult, but even though he'd fought a war and been killed and come back and finally defeated Voldemort… he wasn't ready to be on his own. He hadn't wanted to face it, the pain of going on. He'd had the choice before, in the Kings Cross Station of the _beyond_ … he could make that choice again…

But he hadn't done it. He wasn't sure why at the time, because he had never felt so heartbroken, so hopeless… but he'd let Hermione lead him away.

He turned from Fawkes' golden stand and kept walking towards the door. "Yeah, I've been here since that night." He walked past the brazier, wincing against it's fierce heat. "Have you?"

Draco was standing against the wall, his hands gripped tightly before him. "No." He raised his eyes, met Harry's gaze. "I'm sorry." He whispered, as a tear rolled down his cheek.


	14. Chapter 14

I know, I'm awful. I have always intended to carry this story on, I've just had a really busy and stressful year. Please don't hate me. If anyone is still reading this, thanks!

* * *

"There's nothing to be sorry for." Harry breathed, his heart in his throat. "It was so long ago… we were just kids…" The usual raft of platitudes fell from his lips, even as he realised they were useless. He knew it didn't matter how many how many years had passed, or how old they been…

Draco's eyes squeezed shut, his mouth stretched into a tight-jawed grimace, his breath hissed through clenched teeth as another tear thinned itself on his cheek. "How can you stand to be near me?" his voice was strained, thin on the still air. "What I did to you-" he cut himself off, a shudder running through his body.

Harry didn't think, just lurched forward to close the space between them. He grasped Draco's arms, just above the elbow. They were tense beneath his palms, and shaking. He barely noticed the warmth of Draco's skin easing the icy pain in his hand.

Draco flinched at Harry's touch, his jaw a hard line under his skin as he ground his teeth together. His hair caught on the rough stone wall as he shook his head. "I'm sorry." He barely managed to gasp as his breath heaved erratically from his lungs. His hands unclasped, reached to grasp at Harry's chest, but stopped before the cloth of Harry's shirt, turning back to claw together, his fingernails digging into his skin. "I'm… s-so sorry." His voice stuttered, then failed as a long, ragged sob tore from his throat.

"It's okay." Harry mumbled, knowing nothing he could say would make any difference. Draco was beyond words, trapped somewhere that Harry couldn't reach. He'd seen it a hundred times after the war. He'd been there himself. There was nothing he could do but wait, but be there for him when he came back.

Draco pulled into himself, imploded. His entire body trembled as his shoulders hunched forward, his mouth open and his breath fast and shallow, every inhalation a grating gasp. His legs shook, eventually gave way, and Harry followed him down to sit on the cold stone floor. Tight, halting sobs wracked Draco's bones as Harry tried to hold him together. He murmured useless nothings against Draco's ear, soft _shushes_ and _it's okays_ and _you're alrights._ Nothing that meant anything. Nothing that did anything but pass time – long, painful minutes – until Draco's breathing finally slowed and his trembling subsided.

Slowly, the hard tension leaked from Draco's muscles, his body just slightly less rigid in Harry's arms. He sniffed, his breath still shaking, still hiccupping as tears still dropped off his chin… but they slowed too, and in a low, hoarse voice, he started to speak.

"None of it seemed real. It was a game… a way to show off… until he put that mark on me… Then it was up to me, to atone… or he'd hurt…" He swallowed. "The vanishing cabinet… it was my idea. I thought I could save my mother when my father couldn't… I could show my father that I… I could…" another shudder ran through him, pausing his halting, gasping confession. Harry's arms were around his curled shoulders, his cheek against Draco's bowed head. "I didn't want to think about what it meant… what it would cost… I was relieved when I thought you had killed me, that day… but you didn't… and then I killed him. Dumbledore. Snape held the wand, but it was me… I killed him really… He _let_ me kill him… I shouldn't be here, I don't have the right. I don't have any right… spoiled… selfish… and _you_!" he jerked his head up, forcing Harry to pull back. His grey eyes were wide, bloodshot. His cheeks were wet. "I ruined _everything_ for you. I _tormented_ you!" He was leaning back, pushing against the circle of Harry's arms. "You should _hate_ me for what I did to you. _Hate me._ I started everything, I killed Dumbledore, I let those Carrows torture your friends, I let Bellatrix torture Hermione…" a low groan, almost a wail, fell from Draco's throat and he slumped forward, all the fight leaving him. "Hermione…"

"Hermione's fine." Harry hushed, pulling Draco back. "She's _fine._ She's happy." He rubbed Draco's back with his cursed hand, letting the warmth coming through Draco's shirt sooth his palm. He tugged Draco closer, curling them together, trying to ignore how the night cold was seeping under his skin, and how one of his legs was starting to go numb. "She loves you, you know."

Draco sniffed. "She shouldn't." he whispered. "She should hate me… and so should you."

Harry chuckled, relieved that the worst of Draco's panic seemed to be over, dissipating as quickly as it had come on. "Too bad. Not gonna." He murmured against Draco's hair. One of Draco's hands shifted, reaching to gently grasp Harry's shirt, and Harry's heart lurched at the childish, tentative gesture, and he held him just a tiny touch tighter. "Besides, I think you've paid enough."

…

"How is your hand?" Draco asked softly.

"Cold." Harry answered, just as softly. There was a delicate, brittle air between them. Harry wasn't sure what it was. Whether it was Draco's hurt pride at Harry seeing him lose control, or an uncertain vulnerability… but it made them quiet as they made their way to the hospital wing.

They had eventually picked themselves up off the tower floor, shaken and tired, avoiding each other's eyes. Harry had straightened his shirt and pulled his robes onto his shoulders, while Draco had tried to smooth his messed up hair. They'd made the descent down the steep tower stairs in silence.

"May I see?" Draco stopped in the middle of the corridor, his faint lumos was cast just short of the walls, a veil of dim light in the dark. Harry didn't reply, just held out his cursed hand. It was more painful now, a cold ache spreading into his wrist. He flexed his fingers, but it was getting harder to move them, and they wouldn't curl or straighten properly.

Draco made a tutting noise as he watched the hindered motions of Harry's fingers. "That doesn't look good. Here." He reached out, grasping Harry's hand in his to take a closer look at the blueing skin of Harry's palm.

Harry groaned before he could stop himself. Draco's warm hand on his freezing skin made him sigh in relief, the spiking ache in his bones instantly soothed where Draco was touching him.

"That good, huh?" Draco's eyebrow raised, teasing, but he didn't quite meet Harry's gaze. He slid both of his hands around Harry's cursed palm.

Harry groaned again as blissful heat sunk into his flesh. "You have no idea." He closed his eyes, felt his shoulders relax as tension he hadn't realised he'd been holding seeped away with the cold.

"This really helps?" Draco's fingers rubbed at his skin.

"Hmmmmm…" Harry hummed. "You know how good it felt to get into a hot bath after a November Quidditch practice?"

Draco _huffed_. One corner of his mouth curled up. But his eyes were still cast down. "I remember vividly."

"It's better than that."

There was another _huff_ as Draco curled his fingers around Harrys hand, their palms together. "Come on…" He tugged gently at Harry's hand, urging him to start walking again. "We can't stand here holding hands all night."…

… "Ah, good." Madam Pomfrey nodded when she noticed their clasped palms. "I hoped you'd chance upon that." She gestured to where Gabe lay prone on one of the narrow, white beds, Simon slouched in a chair next to her, his hands over her eye. "It's the best we have for now."

"How is she?" Draco asked, giving Harry a second longer to sort his muddled thoughts.

"Stable." Poppy moved around to pat Simon gently on the shoulder. "Skin contact is the only effective means we've yet found of warming the curse, but it _is_ effective. Simon has a long night ahead of him." She chuckled. "Here, Potter. Show me your hand."

Poppy directed Harry to a bed further down the ward, leaving Draco to pull a chair up next to Simon, their low voices not quite audible from where Harry was sitting. "Has it grown worse?" Madame Pomfrey asked, after inspecting the curse site and making him perform a few simple motions.

"A bit. It got so I couldn't really move it, but then we realised that… skin…"

She nodded. Drawing a pen from her robe pocket – a regular old ballpoint – she drew a circle around the whitish mark on his palm, marking the boundary of the curse. Then she flipped over a small silver hourglass that sat on the table next to the bed. "I'll be back in six minutes." She tapped the timer with a finger. "Can you keep that hand still for that long?"

Harry had to stifled a laugh… she still thought of him as a student. It would have been aggravating if he hadn't seen her do the same thing to almost every other staff member. "I can try."

She narrowed her eyes at him in warning before bustling off. Harry waited, too weary and too wound up to get bored. He watched Draco and Simon, how they sat together, their backs to where Harry sat, Simon shaking his head or nodding periodically, speaking softly, too softly for Harry to hear. Harry couldn't hear Draco's chuckle, either, but he could see where Draco's cheek pulled up into a smile, his chin tuck down just slightly, in the way he did when he let out one of his _huffs_. Merlin, the man was beautiful. Even when he turned in his chair, so Harry could see that his eyes were ringed with dark circles, still slightly swollen and red from his panic attack… he was gorgeous. Harry's stomach twisted on itself.

"How are you?" The lop-sided smile was still on Draco's lips, "Do you get to keep your hand?"

Harry only _just_ stopped himself from flexing his fingers. The cold was definitely getting worse, building in his bones again, the skin growing blotchy. "Still waiting on the diagnosis." He smiled, then shook his head at Simon's nervous expression. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

"You'll be fine." Poppy rubbed the curse with her own dry palm, making Harry sigh in relief. She'd turned up at his side the very moment the last grain of sand had fallen from the hourglass, clicking her tongue at how the curse had grown past it's ballpoint border. "Though it is still active. You'll need someone to maintain contact until it's neutralised… I assume Malfoy?"

Harry _swore_ he could hear something _knowing_ in her voice. Did she know? Had they been too obvious? He fought a blush as he nodded. "I s'pose? I dunno."

"Of course I will." Draco drawled from where he sat at Gabe's vigil.

"Then that's settled. Come to see me if the curse stops responding to skin contact, otherwise, keep warm, rest, and _no magic_. You are not to cast any spells, or to have them cast on you. Not with a transference curse."

Harry sighed, he already knew the drill. Unstable magic, the type that didn't stay on its intended target, could cause some really weird complications with even the most basic of spells. "Yeah, OK." He acquiesced "I'll hide my wand."

With that, he was free to go.

Awkwardly, he took Draco's proffered hand, and stood there flustered as Draco said his goodbyes to Simon and Poppy. He was tired, and sore, and just wanted to climb into bed… with Draco… _Merlin_ , he couldn't decide if this was dream, or a nightmare. Just having Draco's hand in his was doing strange things to his stomach, having Draco in his bed was going to be… painful. Or maybe they'd stay in Draco's bed? Unless he insisted they sit up on the sofa or something, but that didn't bear thinking about. Harry needed a bed, needed to at least try to sleep.

"You look dead on your feet." Draco observed quietly as they approached his door. "Do you want to go ahead to your rooms? I'll just get changed and tend to my ablutions."

Harry blinked heavily. Who on earth but a Malfoy could use the word _ablutions_ non-ironically? "Yeah." He said stupidly. "Meet you there." He pulled his hand from Draco's – the cold instantly throbbing in the centre of his palm – and shuffled down the hall to his quarters.

The fire was cracking when he finally stumbled through his own door. He kicked his shoes off, shrugged off his cloak, and dropped gratefully down in the armchair closest to the hearth, holding his hand up to the flame to try ease some of the pain. It didn't work. Slumping back into the chair, he tried to make sense of the last few hours. The patronus lesson, Draco, running into Simon, rushing to the observatory tower to find Gabe, the transference, Draco's panic attack, going to the infirmary, and now this… waiting for Draco to turn up so they could spend the night together, however chastely… it had been a _long_ evening.

His hand throbbed, reminding him the curse was still there, like he could forget. Grunting, he hefted himself up and made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He didn't need magic for that, though it was strange holding his toothbrush in his cursed hand, his fingers felt numb. Teeth clean, he went through to his bedroom, rotating his wrist in a futile effort to warm the aching joint. He'd need pyjamas. If Draco was going to be joining him, he couldn't just sleep in whatever underwear he happened to be wearing, or naked, like he usually did. He couldn't remember if he'd packed any, but he'd have something suitable, somewhere. One-handed, he pulled open a heavy drawer and fossicked around for something to wear. Eventually he found a t-shirt and track pants that would do the job, and dragged them over to his bed to get changed.

God his bed looked inviting. In typical Hogwarts fashion, it was an enormous, four-post affair, with deep red velvet hangings and a plush, warm, feather duvet. The fire was cracking in here, too, though the warmth wasn't doing anything to help his cold arm. Grasping the hem of his shirt in both hands, he pulled it up to pull it over his head, and yelped. His head was stuck – again – and his arm _did not_ like being moved like this.

He hissed through his teeth as stabbing pains shot from his elbow to his shoulder, and from his shoulder down his back. He tried to force his shirt over his head, not caring if he lost a button, but sharp pain pulled at his ribs, making his eyes water. " _Shit."_

So he tried to pull his shirt back down, but that was just as bad. His shoulder blade felt like it was going to snap, a muscle in his neck spasming just at the base of his skull. _Damn it_ it hurt! He gulped in a breath, trying not to whine like a child. He was trapped in his own shirt, and in _pain._ Too much pain to care about feeling humiliated when he heard a knock at his door.

"Come in!" He yelled, hoping his voice would carry far enough for Draco to hear.

"Harry?"

"In here. I…" he hissed as another sharp pain stabbed down the back of his neck. "I need a hand."

Moments later he heard the bedroom door creak open, and a slight pause before Draco laughed. A real laugh. Low and smooth and full of genuine mirth… Harry's heart melted. "Is this a common occurrence for you?" He chuckled, his footsteps growing nearer.

"Would you believe me if I said no?" Harry chuckled back, then winced. "Hurts, though. If you could?"

"Oh. Sorry." Draco apologised as he jerked the shirt down in one motion. "But no, I wouldn't believe you."

He was smiling, his cheeks just faintly pink in the orange firelight, and he was _so close_. He reached to pick up Harry's hand, rubbing it between his palms, making Harry's eyes shut with pleasure as blessed _warmth_ chased away the stabbing cold. "I've been in your bedroom twice now," he said quietly, his fingers curling around Harry's hand, "and you've been in this predicament both times… if I didn't know better…"

He was teasing, obviously. Harry stared, watching as the blush on Draco's cheeks grew darker. His heart was pounding in his chest, the pain in his shoulder all but forgotten. Draco was wearing those soft pants Harry liked, and a long-sleeved white t-shirt. He looked young, even with the circles under his eyes. He looked beautiful.

"I like it when you laugh." Harry breathed, before he could stop himself. "Even when it's at me."

Draco's eyes darted up, meeting Harry's gaze before dropping down again. A small smile curled his lips, something quieter, more private than the smile he'd been wearing before. "I wasn't laughing at you." He dropped Harry's hand, and for a second Harry's heart sank, but Draco's long fingers just moved to unbutton Harry's shirt cuff.

"I don't mind." Harry insisted. "It's worth it… to hear you…" What was he saying? Why was he saying it? He didn't care. All he cared about was the small, secret smile on Draco's lips, the blush on his cheeks, his long fingers deftly unbuttoning his shirt…

"Be that as it may." Draco moved to the other sleeve. "I wasn't laughing at you." There was a silence as he finished with Harry's other sleeve. He paused for a second, his hands wavering, uncertain, before reaching up to undo Harry's top shirt button. "I was laughing at fate."

Harry couldn't talk, didn't want to interrupt whatever Draco was about to say, didn't want to break whatever moment this was, didn't want to do _anything_ that might stop Draco from undressing him. He bit his lip, aware he was starting to get hard, hoping he wasn't going to ruin everything…

"I am a… controlled person, Harry." Draco kept talking, low, as his fingers moved down to the next button. "I am not often plagued by my… wants." and the next. "But I have wanted you for a long time…" the fourth button opened under his touch. "I was asking myself, in my room, what else could possibly test my resolve." and the fifth. "Because even _I_ have a limit…" Harry's shirt fell open.

Harry was completely still, his heart in his throat. Was this actually happening? As he watched, Draco's gaze ran down his chest, lingered at the line of hair below his navel. "I can't take this any longer." Draco whispered, so soft that Harry could barely hear him over the sound of his own pulse.

Grey eyes raised to meet green. Long, pale fingers shifted to move beneath white fabric, to splay across dark skin.

"I need…" Draco's voice shook, he swallowed as Harry's hands moved to graze his slender hips. "… to kiss you."


	15. Chapter 15

_`I need to kiss you…'_

Harry waited for the _but._ There had to be a _but…_ there was always a _but… I need to kiss you… but…_

But it didn't come. Instead, Draco's hands pushed further under Harry's open shirt as he leaned forward, his chin tilting up as Harry bent his neck…

Draco's kiss was as soft as breath. The gentlest touch of warm skin against Harry's lips. A quiet question, before he pulled away, dragging Harry's heart with him.

Harry's fingers clutched at Draco's hips as their eyes met, not wanting to let him go. They stared, both aware that a line was about to be crossed that they wouldn't be able to cross back. A moment of hesitation, another question in their eyes that was answered the moment Harry leaned back in.

It was like the room had been holding its breath, only to gasp for air the moment their lips met. Draco met Harry's kiss with an almost desperate ferocity, his fingers grasping at Harry's chest, his lips parting… and Harry was suddenly delirious, dizzy with _want_. He couldn't think around it, all he knew was how warm Draco's mouth was on his, how Draco's long fingers were pushing even further under his shirt, up to his shoulders.

Draco groaned when Harry moved his hands under Draco's white shirt. _"Cold"._ But he pushed into Harry's touch, as cold as it was, so Harry kept touching. His skin… his skin was warm, hot. Harry's fingertips grazed through the fine hairs at the small of Draco's back, skidded up his spine until his palm was flat between sharp shoulder blades, pressing hard to pull them closer together. Harry let Draco push his shirt off his shoulders, let it gather at his elbows, unwilling to take his hands from Draco's skin.

Making soft, insistent noises at the back of this throat, Draco moved his mouth against Harry's jaw, pressed open-mouthed kisses against Harry's neck, leaving Harry weak-kneed as he sucked gently at the skin above his collarbone.

He could see Draco's pale hands against the dark skin of his chest. He wanted to see more. He wanted Draco's stomach pressed against his, their legs twined together. He wanted to see how close they could get, to see if they could blur where Draco's white skin ended, and Harry's brown skin began. He wanted much, _much_ more freedom for his hands to roam. _"Draco…"_ His voice rasped with his heaving breath. "… _bed."_

Within seconds, Harry was lying back on the feather duvet, jerking his arms out of his shirt sleeves, watching Draco climb on top of him. His heart was thudding erratically in his chest, his skin prickling as Draco straddled his hips, making him groan. Grabbing a fistful of Draco's shirt, he dragged the other man down to kiss him. Draco chuckled against his lips, sighing when Harry's other hand cupped the back of his head.

Harry was aware that he was out of his depth. Everything about this was foreign. Draco was lean and hard, where Harry was used to soft and curved. Draco's lips were more firm than any others Harry had ever kissed, and his kisses were harder, given with abandon, leaving no doubt about what he wanted as his teeth bit into Harry's lower lip. Harry knew that he had no idea what he was doing, that he'd never held another man like this, that the prospect of gay sex was kind of terrifying… but Draco just felt so good, so _right_ against him like this, that any nerves he might have had were lost amongst the clamouring in his blood that told him to get _more_.

Their lips parted as Harry pulled Draco's shirt off over his head. Even as Draco sat up to tug it from his arms, Harry's hands roved across the new territory of Draco's stomach. He was gorgeous… _beautiful_. Taut muscle under thin skin, just the lightest line of hair running from his waistband to his shallow navel. Harry traced it with the side of his thumb, grinning when Draco softly swore. His hands roved further, touching Draco's fine skin, circling his nipples, a flare of shame and inexplicable possessiveness rising in his chest as his fingertips found the raised lines of Draco's Septum Sempra scars.

He raised his eyes, suddenly conscious that Draco had stilled. Was Draco self-conscious about those scars? Had he just ruined the moment, touching them like that?

Draco was watching him, his lip between his teeth, his cheeks red in a flush that was spreading down his neck, his chest. His pulse was thumping in the hollow of his throat, making Harry want to press his lips there. His eyes were searching Harry's face with an expression closer to dismay than lust, which caught Harry's breath in his throat. That was not an expression he wanted on the face he'd just been kissing.

Harry swallowed – his brain still distracted by the hot skin under his palms – but before he could gather his thoughts enough to form a sentence, Draco was kissing him again, hard.

All thoughts of troubling facial expressions dissolved beneath a barrage of sensation. Braced on one arm, Draco's other hand was travelling up Harry's ribs, thumbing his nipple, stroking his chest hair, making Harry's breath shudder, and his skin raise in goosebumps. Draco's firm, persistent lips had urged Harry's mouth open, and Harry was being kissed in a way he never had before. Hard and heedless and unconsidered…

It was all too much, Draco's grasping hand and insistent kisses and – Harry groaned as they were pressed together – rolling hips. This thing they were doing, Draco's skin under his fingers and tongue in his mouth and the heavenly, clean smell of him in his nostrils… it overwhelmed him, making colour spark in his peripheral vision and constant, whimpering moans rise from his throat, until he let everything go, and just _felt._

They moved together easily, constantly shifting to touch each other in new places. They rutted against each other, shamelessly gasping as they ground together. At some point Harry's roving hands loosened Draco's hair tie enough that it fell out, white blond hair curtained their faces, brushed Harry's cheeks as they kissed, his shoulder as they gasped for breath, his chest as Draco licked his nipples. His hands moved all over Draco's body, gripping and curving to fit against his lean plains, grasping and tugging to pull them harder together, nothing in his mind but _more._

Draco pulled away slightly, rolling to his side to push his hand between them. Harry groaned as Draco's fingers ran up the hard length of him, and again when he started fumbling with his belt buckle. With one hand grabbing Draco's ass, the other touched Draco's face, cupped his cheek, ran his thumb across his bottom lip… and when Draco had loosened his pants enough to push his hand in, to wrap his fingers around Harry's painfully hard cock, Harry hefted himself up on one elbow and kissed him.

They both groaned as Draco started stroking him. Pre-cum slicked under Draco's fingers, over Harry's head, so hard that his foreskin stayed pulled back, letting Draco's fingers bump over the most sensitive parts of him, building him closer and closer to coming within moments. _"Draco… Draco…_ " Harry chanted, whined against Draco's mouth. He was beginning to shake, his fingers fisting into Draco's cornsilk hair.

Then Draco let go, shifting away again. Harry gasped when his kiss, his touch disappeared, the pressure that has fast been building to a peak throbbed for three heartbeats before beginning to subside.

" _Wait… wait… I'm just…"_ Draco was panting, stammering, his hand struggling between them. _"I want… to… come with you."_ He sighed as he pulled his own erection from his pants, moaned as Harry pulled his head down to press their mouths together. " _I want to come with you."_ He repeated, his words soft against Harry's tongue.

Harry shuddered as Draco held him again, right up against his own cock, the two of them pressed against each other in the circle of Draco's fingers. His head swam. Nothing had ever felt this good. Ever. He was making noises in his throat as Draco started to stroke again. It was amazing, surreal. He could feel Draco's cock against his, hot, pulsing… Oh _Merlin._

" _Draco…"_ His voice was hoarse " _I'm…"_ He groaned as Draco gripped him, _them_ , tighter.

" _Me too.. just…"_ Draco shuddered, " _Now. Please now… Ah, ah-h,_ Harry!"

That pushed him over the edge, his name in Draco's mouth, desperate, pleading… the hot splatter of Draco's cum landing on his stomach… They came so close together that Draco's hand was still stroking when Harry whimpered, the fist in Draco's hair clenching. Draco kissed him, murmuring words Harry couldn't quite hear as he trembled, all of that coiled pressure releasing in one go, leaving him dazed and breathless.

Harry sank back onto the bed, head spinning. Letting go of Draco's hair, his fingers slid to hold the back of Draco's neck, pulling him down to kiss him. A long, deep kiss. Slow. " _That was amazing."_ He sighed, aware that those words were trite, but meaning them just the same.

Draco moved back, his eyes heavy-lidded as they roved Harry's face. He could only imagine what Draco was seeing. Red cheeks, messy hair, a dopey look on his face. Draco was downright disheveled. His hair loose, that red flush right down his chest, his eyes shining and his lips swollen. He looked like he'd just had great sex. Harry smiled. His thumb stroked Draco's jaw. " _You're_ amazing." He added.

Draco looked away, a smile Harry hadn't seen before playing across his lips. Harry watched as Draco took a long breath in through his nose, like he was steadying himself. "That was better than anything I've ever imagined," He murmured so softly it was almost a whisper. He leaned closer, letting his lips brush oh-so-gently against Harry's. "and I've imagined this, with you, _a lot."_

 _I love you._ Unbidden, the words lurched into Harry's throat, but he clamped his jaw around them, refusing to let them go. This wasn't the time. As much as he wanted to say it, as soft and sweet as Draco was being, it would ruin everything, he knew. So he swallowed them, filled his mouth instead with Draco's breath as he kissed him.

Draco pulled away all too soon, relaxed, _huffing_ at Harry's attempt to pull him back. "Soon." He smiled. "First, though, we need to clean you up… _without magic."_

Ten minutes later, after Harry had wiped their loads off his stomach, and washed his hands, and stripped his pants off while Draco watched appreciatively, they climbed under the covers together. Neither of them bothered putting their shirts on, and they lazily touched each other, close, their legs entwined.

They didn't talk, just sighed and kissed and hummed as they trailed their fingers against each others bodies, slowly falling asleep, both wishing they could stay right there forever, both knowing there was nothing they could do to stop the morning coming.

* * *

AN: It really doesn't feel like SEVEN MONTHS since my last update, but the numbers don't lie. I tried and tried to write this, but struggled so bad. I hope it was worth the wait. xxxx

Extra note: someone seems to have a bee in their bonnet and is posting reviews that this story has been flagged for plagiarism (which it hasn't). I have not intentionally copied anyone, though if someone thinks I have, can you point me at the work I've apparently ripped off? I'd like to read it.


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